


The Portrait of Hunters as Young Men

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Teen!Chester, wee!chester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 116,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1983, the year everything changed. John, Dean, and Sam are on the road now trying to adjust to the reality of the situation. Growing up in an unconventional way, Sam and Dean are just different from other kids. What exactly are young hunters' lives like?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suits

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'd always wanted to write a fanfic aout what happened in the lives of a young Dean and Sam, but I'd never gotten the chance to do so because I felt my writing wasn't good enough, or I wouldn't be able to convey what I thought well enough. However, I decided to go for it anyway (and stop the touchy-feely, self-help crap). This is going to be a compilation of quasi-vignettes following the lives of Sam and Dean. I have the stories planned out, so it should be several chapters long. Anyway, without further ado, here's my first fanfic!

            Dean didn’t want to get up. He hated having to wake up early, as any four year old would. However, his father nudged him once and Dean noticed the solemn look on his face and knew better than to argue. He sleepily rolled over to his side facing Sammy who was fast asleep amidst their Dad’s rustling.

            “Hey Dean-o, change into this,” John Winchester told his oldest son quietly pointing at a pile of clothing on one of the hideously bright orange motel sheets. Dean looked over and saw it was what his dad called a “sooot.” It was simple and boring and had a thing that looked like a satiny rope on top of it. Dean just stared at it. It seemed odd to him that he should be asked to wear something like this, when he usually just wore whatever his mom picked out for him…

            His mom. He hadn’t seen her in over 3 weeks. Dad kept saying she was “gone,” but Dean didn’t understand. Mom had to come back, who else would sing to him when he was tired or feed him when he was sick? At least that’s what his four-year-old mind tried to rationalize. However, a tiny piece of Dean’s mind was screaming ‘ _Mom would never leave this long. She ain’t coming. She never came outta the fire and she never will.’_ Dean hopped off the bed his eyes stinging a bit as he began to pull on the sooot. It was itchy and a bit big. Dean began to button his shirt, but his small fingers were fumbling with he buttons. John walked over to Dean and silently helped him button the plain white shirt. He grabbed a black tie and tied it around Dean’s neck. Dean felt like it was choking him; the combination of the itchy cloth and the thing that looked like a rope used to strangle people made for a very pouty Dean. The toddler wanted to complain, but he just couldn’t. Didn’t have the heart or the energy for the effort it would take into even speaking… Not that it mattered; Dad had been very quiet lately around Sammy and him. He often left them at places with strange grown ups that insisted on hugging Dean and telling them he was a “brave” boy for going through “the hard time.” Dean never knew what the hard time was though. He just smiled and nodded a lot. Where his Dad went was a mystery, but he wished he could go just to be with him. When his Dad _was_ around, though, he wasn’t really Dad anymore. He would stay up, drinking something really gross that burned Dean’s throat (he took a sip once when Dad wasn’t looking) and not say much of anything. So, it was only logical Dean should be the same way: quiet and not say much of anything.

            “I know it’s annoying,” John mumbled when he noticed the pouting Dean, “but you only have to wear these stupid monkey suits for a couple hours, okay kiddo?” Dean shrugged his shoulders acknowledging he understood. John sighed, “still not talking?” Another shrug. “Fine, but your tongues gonna get frozen that way and you won’t be able to ever speak again.”

            Dean’s green eyes, _Mary’s eyes_ , widened as he whispered, “nuh-uh….really?”  It was the first thing he’d spoken in nearly three weeks.

            “Yeah, really,” John replied with a small smile. He pulled on the suit jacket and looked at Dean for a moment with a sadness in his eyes and said, “we’re just going to visit your mom’s finished gravestone. Say goodbye.”

            Dean’s mouth went dry. Say goodbye? “where we goin’?”

            “I dunno yet, just outta this place for awhile,” John responded his voice hard and determined, and his eyes void of any emotion he had previously. “Get Sammy and go to the car with him.”

            “But daddy,” Dean whined as his lip began to tremble, “I don’ wanna leave! Mommy is here.”

            “Dean, please, just get in the car,” John said a little firmer as he clenched a fist. This was the last thing he needed. A crying kid who broke his heart.

            “But mommy!” Dean wailed again this time loud enough to wake baby Sammy who also began to cry.

            “Your mother isn’t coming back, Dean! She’s dead, and crying isn’t gonna change that,” John said shouting now, “for Chrissake look what you did! You woke up Sammy. Get in the car with him, Dean. Now.” John’s eyes locked on Dean’s with a fierce determination. He had to get Dean to listen and stop talking about Mary before he punched a wall.

            Dean wailed as he picked up Sammy and walked to the Impala. John watched his small figure walk away floundering under the weight of carrying baby Sammy. For someone so young he was far too old. “I’m so sorry, Mary. I just don’t know what to do. I ca—I can’t do this alone,” John whispered. He gathered the rest of their belongings and packed them into the trunk. He could hear through the window that Dean was sniffling and trying to calm the hysterical Sammy who’d been crying a lot since Mary had died. The only thing that consoled him was Dean humming “Hey Jude” to him. John got in the car and started the ignition, as “Carry on Wayward Son” blasted through the car speakers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           John stood in front of a White gravestone that read “Mary Winchester” in Greenville, Illinois. One of Mary’s uncles had insisted on having one there, despite not having a body to bury. John stared at the white slab of rock. It was meaningless. It could never amount to what Mary was. Dean shuffled closer to his father and gripped Sammy tightly as he bounced him up and down. His little face was set in stone, eyes inscrutable. His little foot kicked at the headstone; his mom had lied to him. She told him angels were watching over him. No angel would let this happen. Nice things like angels just didn’t exist. Dean looked up at his father. His dad’s eyes were empty and void of any emotion. _What’s wrong with Dad? Daddy was so sad, his heart stopped feeling._ Without knowing what to do the toddler finally spoke and said, “S’okay, daddy.”

          John stared at his eldest wondering is he was hearing correctly. “Son, she—she’s not comin’ back.”

          “I know. But you’ll be okay,” Dean responded simply not looking his father in the eyes.

           John felt a lump catch in his throat. His four-year-old was comforting _him._ He had really screwed things up royally. “C’mon Dean, let’s go.” He picked Dean up and carried him and Sammy to the Impala. “How you doin’, kiddo?”

          Dean said nothing for a few moments and then angrily proclaimed, “I hate this monkey sooot!” John stared at Dean and began to laugh. Dean joined in, and even Sammy gurgled. For one brief, shining moment things felt _easy._


	2. Chapter 2: Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sammy are left at Bobby's and Dean wonders why his Dad is always leaving them places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's an update! I finally got around to writing in the midst of packing for university.I've planned out the story to be from the time of the fire to Sam leaving for Stanford. So it'll be roughly 18 chapters.This chapter isn't the best I have to offer, but it's harder to write them younger. Once they're both walking and talking it'll get better. I know the story's been Dean heavy, but it's hard to do much with Sam seeing as he's an infant...so. Without further ado, the next chapter!

**Chapter 2: Pie**

“Look, Bobby, I just need to drop them off for a few day, it won’t be long,” John pleaded standing outside of the Impala that was parked in front of Bobby’s front door.

“No! Ya need to be with your kids more an’ ya can’t keep leavin’ ‘em all over the place like forgotten luggage!” Bobby explained exasperatedly. He knew John was trying to do his best, but he just couldn’t help but being annoyed. He dragged his kids all over the country, never let them have a proper home or stability, and left them with hunters who were practically strangers.

“Look, I’m askin’ you nicely. If you don’t wanna help me watch the boys for a few days, I don’t care. I’ll ask someone else,” John replied testily. He looked into the Impala where he saw a Dean sitting in the backseat fast asleep with his arm on Sammy. They almost looked angelic in that commercial-for-family-trips kinda way.

“You don’t know anybody else,” Bobby snorted. “I’ll let the boys stay because they’re good kids not because I’m doin’ you a favor. I like them more than you.”

John laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll wake them up,” He turned around and open the backdoor of the Impala and Dean’s head that had been leaning against the window fell forward and he awoke with a start.

“Dad, whaddya hafta do that for?” the five year old mumbled sleepily as he rubbed his bright green eyes.

“I need you to take Sam inside and put him to bed there, I’m leaving for awhile and not coming back for a few days,” John told him not quite meeting his gaze.

“Aww, Dad, why? No!” Dean protested with a whine in his voice.

“Dean, now,” John ordered strictly.

“Fine!” Dean said angrily waking Sam and setting him on the floor. “Just go and leave me here alone like you always do!”

“It’s not like that, Dean, stop being a whiny girl,” John said harshly with a somewhat exasperated wave of his hand as he rubbed his eyes.

“Fine then. I don’t need you. Sammy and I are fine all on our own,” Dean announced smartly as he half-walked, half-dragged his one year old brother across the porch and into Bobby’s house.

Bobby watched Dean and Sam go into his house. It looked so awkward as Dean stormed off trying to look tough while tugging Sam who could barely take three steps at a time. He chuckled and turned to John, “you need to be with your boys more. God help ‘em, but they really love ya.”

“Those two are gonna be the death of me,” John said getting into the Impala and driving off.

* * *

  


Bobby walked inside as he heard Dean’s small voice telling Sam, “Dad’ll be back, ok? Don’t worry Sammy, he’s just workin’ and stuff.”

“Whatcha doin’ boy?” Bobby asked Dean as he took a seat next to him on the couch.

“Nuthin’ just talkin’ to Sammy,” Dean replied suddenly very interested in his fingernails. He didn’t want Bobby to think he was a whiny girl.

“Well what are you talkin’ to him about?” Bobby asked. For such a little kid, Dean sure looked like he carried the weight of the word on his shoulders.

“Just tellin’ Sammy Dad’s coming back,” Dean said turning to look at his little brother. Sammy was sitting up chewing on a piece or wood he found on the floor. “No! Sam! You don’t chew on things offa the floor,” Dean chastised. He turned back to Bobby, “Do you have a plastic baggy I could put ice in? He’s gettin’ baby teeths and he’s teethin’ or something. Dad said.”

Bobby sighed. Freaking John should take care of his goddam kids, not have his little kid take care of the littler kid. “Yeah, I’ll get some for you.”

 As Bobby’s footsteps disappeared Sam turned to Dean and shrieked, “Daddy!” Dean sighed and shook his head.

 “No, Sammy, but Uncle Bobby’s gonna take care of us for some days ‘til Dad comes back, kay?” Dean moved Sam onto his lap. “Now let’s see if there’s something on TV?” Bobby came over with the makeshift teething toy and handed it to Sam who gratefully began sucking on it. “Uncle Bobby, do ya know if we can watch the TV?” Dean asked him giving him a cherubic smile.

“It only gets a few channels, but sure,” Bobby responded as he began fiddling with the dials. He finally found one channel that didn’t look terrible. It was some early morning news program and he left it on for Dean to watch and Sam to mostly look at moving pictures. “I’ll be right outside, I need to look at a car, okay?”

“Mmm,” Dean responded clearly not paying any attention to what was going on. He heard Uncle Bobby close he front door, but he was too busy watching some pretty lady talk about this dog that saved a guy’s life on TV. It was pretty boring stuff: the latest trends, the best movies, the local events, etc. Dean began to doze off as he heard a newscaster say, “…and the body was located near the library…”

Sam shouting “Caaahhhrrr” jerked him awake. Dean glanced at the TV set and saw the Impala in back of the live report from where “a body” was found. Why would the car be there? It must’ve gotten stolen, or something… unless… the body… was his dad’s. Dean jumped off the couch and ran to the front door as Sammy tried to toddle after him. “Uncle Bobby! COME QUICKLY,” he shouted as loud as he could.

 Bobby ran inside thinking the worst, and found Dean standing by the front door looking pale. “What? What happened?”

Dean couldn’t get his words out fast enough and they slurred together, “the newsandthetvmansaid! Deadbody! The Impala and DAD!”

“Whoa, I didn’t hear anythin’ you just said, slow down, boy.”

“The news! It said there was a body by the library and dad’s car was right there! Where did he go?” Dean shouted freaking out. Sam hobbled over and began to cry because of the noise.

Bobby looked at Dean for a moment without saying anything and finally told him, “Your dad’s fine. Nobody would wanna kill him, he’s too much of an idjit.” He picked up Sam and awkwardly patted him until he stopped crying and was silenced to a hiccupping sound.

“How do you know, Uncle Bobby? He said he was goin’ to work, but that don’t look like work!”

“I know because I’m a grown-up and had heard about this earlier,” Bobby retorted. “And your dad’s job is special and just makes him drive all over. He’s like a secret type of police. Nobody can know what he does or when he does it, but he helps a lot of people…”

“Really?” Dean said raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Yes, would I lie to you, you little idjit?”

“No. But, Uncle Bobby what if he gets hurt…. Or somethin’ real bad happens to him like it happened to mo—,” Dean held his tongue. He didn’t talk about that.

“Nothin’ will happen boy, he’s specially trained,” Bobby answered putting a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. He could see Dean’s eyes swimming in despair as he had almost mentioned his mother.

“Promise?” Dean said looking up giving Bobby the full blast of the bright green eyes.

“Promise. You can’t tell your daddy I told you this though, okay? Now what do you say we get back inside and I give you a slice of pie to eat?” Bobby asked giving him a friendly clap on the back.

Dean smiled widely and said, “Yes! C’mon, Sammy,” and was inside the house before Bobby had time to blink.

* * *

  


Two days later Bobby heard the roar of the Impala outside of his house and he marched over to John’s car and gave it a good kick in the tire.

“What the hell are you doing?” John shouted as he opened his car door. “That’s a new hubcap, you maniac!”

“Look here Winchester, your boys are always worried sick about you and you go off disappearing and getting your car in the news when it’s the most OBVIOUS car in the world!” Bobby said acidly leaning into John’s face. “Dean thought you were dead because he saw the Impala on the news where there was a body. I had to tell him you were an officer working on a special secret case.”

John stared at Bobby with a flabbergasted expression clearly at a loss for words. Finally, he spluttered a meek, “well, whaddaya want me to do? Take the kid with me?”

“No,” Bobby said forcefully, “I want you to stop this stupid revenge game and be a father to your kids.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to be a parent,” John snarled pushing Bobby back. “You don’t know. You—you have no idea!”

“You idjit. You’re going to end up having these boys hate you if you don’t stop!” Bobby retorted with a hiss.  John was about to retort when…

BAM! The front door hits the side of the house and Dean is standing in the front door sleepily. “Dad… s’good you’re back. Sammy’s asleep.”

“Hey there kiddo,” John said forcing a smile.

“I just wanted to know if I could have another slice of pie…” Dean murmured groggily. “…It was so good.”

Bobby broke out into a genuine smile, “Sure, boy. We should all go inside.” He shot a pointed glance at John.

“Yeah c’mon, nothing’s better than a good old slice of pie,” John agreed. The three of them made their way into the kitchen and polished an entire pie clean.

* * *

  


The next day John was packed and ready to go with both boys in the backseat. “Thanks again, Bobby.”

Bobby grunted. The Impala began to pull out of the drive way as Dean shouted, “Can I get a piece of pie for the road?”

Bobby laughed and went back inside as he cut a slice for the boy. He’d never really wanted kids, but Dean was okay for a snot-nosed brat. He jogged back to the Impala with the pie in a napkin. “Take care boy, ok?”

Dean nodded, with a small, sad smile, and the Impala rolled out of the driveway and into the road.

Bobby sighed. Dean’s life wasn’t looking great. He was dragged around like a pet and John was descending into an obsession. It would be rough...well, at least the kid got his pie. He’d be fine for a whole 5 minutes.

 


	3. Bulls-eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Look at me posting on Friday the 13th. Isn't that crazy? ANYWAY, I just wanted to say sorry I haven't updated sooner, but I moved into my university dorm, so it's all been a little hectic. Between classes and trying to figure tings out there's never a spare moment! Just as a quick note-when the gun is used in this story, don't kill me if the details are a bit off, since I've never actually shot a gun and just used my friend and scholar, Mr. Google. Thanks!

**Chapter 3: Bulls-eye**

Bright lights flooded the motel room; flames had licked his face when he had opened the door. He was greeted by the smell of burning flesh that hit his nose. _Dean and Sam’s_ burning flesh.  John saw Dean’s horrified face questioning _why_? John rolled over on his side with a start; the crappy polyester sheets did nothing to drench his sweat. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest; it was so loud he could hear it. John sat up and looked at Dean and Sam sleeping in the other bed. His throat was constricted. He couldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ let anything happen to his boys. If it did…he didn’t want to think about it. John, who always slept fully clothed, slowly got up as the mattress creaked with his movement. He walked over to Dean’s side and stared at his sleeping son. He couldn’t just leave him _defenseless._ His eyes swept the room until he found the glowing green light of the digital clock. It was 4:50 am. John plopped back onto his bed as the mattress protested his weight. He had to tell Dean. He should know. He should be ready…because it was never going to stop. John knew he couldn’t lose anyone again. He just couldn’t. A nagging in the back of his mind told him, ‘ _Dean’s a kid! He’s six!’_ but he pushed any of those thoughts away. It was a necessary evil.

“Dean!” John whispered loudly in his ear.

Dean bolted up in an instant; he hadn’t slept well in a while. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Get dressed and meet me outside in 5 minutes.”

“What about Sammy?” Dean inquired.

“He’ll be fine, we won’t be gone too long,” John said as he crossed the room and went out the front door.

Dean couldn’t imagine what his dad wanted at 5 o’clock in the morning. He sighed as he sluggishly got dressed in a dirty plaid shirt and a pair of ratty jeans. Dean gave one last look at his little brother before he quietly made his way out of the motel room. When Dean walked out the early-rising summer sun hit his eyes and he squinted. “Dad?”

‘Over here,” John called by the edge of the Impala. “I’m going to teach you something.”

“Okay,” Dean muttered as he walked over to his dad’s car. John stood by the trunk until Dean reached him, and he slowly opened the trunk. There wasn’t anything there, other than their spare clothes…but then Dad opened the bottom (like in a cool spy show). Guns. Lots and lots of guns. And knives. And other things Dean wouldn’t have even imagined in his coolest, most kick-ass dreams. “Whoa,” Dean breathed. “Dad, are you part of the FBI?”

John gave a slight grimace as he pulled out a shotgun and a duffel bag. “Not exactly,” he murmured closing the trunk. “You and I are going to practice shooting at targets.”

“What? With a real gun? No way! This is wicked!” Dean said bursting with energy.

“Slow down, kiddo,” John said with a sigh. “Alright let’s go in the woods just past the road, we can be concealed there.” John slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and held the gun in his right hand. He opened his left hand and reached out for Dean’s small fingers. Dean gave his dad a puzzled look, but took his Dad’s large, comforting hand anyway. It broke John’s heart to see his kid didn’t even know that parents and their children held hands to cross streets or to feel safe. ‘ _What am I doing?’_ John wondered as he waked along the dusty road to reach the neck of the woods. ‘ _Pull yourself together, Winchester. You can’t be soft now when there are things out there just waiting.’_  John sighed as Dean and he reached the beginning of the woods.

“Are we gonna go in there?” Dean asked slightly uncertain.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine, don’t worry,” John said leading them about 200 feet in. “Alright, we’ve got to make this fast because we need to be there before your brother wakes up, understand?”

            “Yes, sir,” Dean said, eyes locked on his father’s.

            “Okay. This here, is a shotgun. I’m going to teach you how to shoot it, and then we’ll shoot ping-pong balls, ok?”

            “Okay… but why?” Dean asked.

            “What do you mean why?” John answered with a question of his own.

            “Well, why are we doin’ this now? I mean, I promise I like it, Dad, it’s just… what’s the point?” Dean questioned, trying to articulate his thoughts.

            John bit his lip as he stared into his son’s bright green eyes. God, they looked like Mary’s. “I’ll explain after, just do what I tell you.”

            “Okay, Dad,” Dean said, satisfied. He never questioned anything John asked of him. It was just natural.

            “First thing you gotta know is that this is a pump-action shotgun,” John said as he began demonstrating how to load a shotgun, “After every shot you gotta pump the forend of the gun to eject the used shell and load another from the magazine tube into the chamber. You followin’?”

            “Um. Kinda. So I put the shell at the end of the barrel? And then when I am done I push it like this?” Dean asked.

            “Exactly. I got you a smaller gun, so it should be easier to use. And these shells aren’t real, just the plastic stuff to practice. Now, you’ve gotta hold the shotgun with one hand on the forearm and one on the grip behind the trigger. Then you turn slightly to the left of the target and move the gun away from you a bit,” John said demonstrating. “You try now.”

 

            Dean mimicked John’s movements perfectly and didn’t even tremble under the far-too-heavy weight of the gun. He was a natural. “Like this, Dad?”

            “Just like that,” John said with a small smile. “Now when you actually shoot you’re gonna wanna move the butt of the shotgun into your shoulder and align your cheek with it so you can see.”

            Dean followed the instructions and looked up expectantly at his dad.

            “Then you click the safety off, point at a target, and shoot. All at once, just like that.” John grabbed the duffel bag and ran 50 feet away. He unzipped the bag and took out old beer cans and set them up like towers of various heights and placed little orange ping-pong balls at the top of them. John shouted from far away, “Now you’re gonna try for real. Aim for the cans, Dean. If you can get the ball at the top, I’d be surprised.”

            Dean looked at his father, a pit in his stomach. He wanted to do really well. He wanted his dad to be happy with him. Like before. Dean took a deep breath, sliding into the motions of firing a shotgun. ‘ _I’ll shoot on three. One. Two. Three.’_

            BAM! An echo ricocheted in the forest. Dean was on his butt, stunned. Somehow he’d managed to fall after he shot the gun. He scrambled to his feet hoping hid dad hadn’t seen. “Dad?” Dean asked nervously, “was that okay?”

            John’s shocked face met Dean’s. “You—you hit the ping-pong ball,” he said after a stunned moment of silence. “You hit the damn PING-PONG BALL!”

            Dean stared at his dad for moment and then shifted his gaze to his feet. “I was just lucky, dad. Lemme go again.” John stepped aside and let Dean shoot again. Not once. Not twice. But three times, Dean hit the pin-pong ball clean off the cans.

            John didn’t say anything, but he gave Dean a small, but strong smile. His kid was freaking James Bond or something. He walked over to Dean and clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon kiddo, it’s nearly 5:45, and your brother could be awake any minute now.”

            “Yeah, okay, Dad,” Dean said with a smug pride in his voice. His dad was proud of him, he could tell. Even if he didn’t say anything, he just knew. When John and Dean had packed up and walked back to the Impala that was parked in front of their room Dean finally asked something that had been bothering him all day. “Dad? I had fun and all, it’s not that I didn’t…but why did we do this?”

            John sighed. He had been dreading this part. The whole “evil’s out there” thing was going to be tough to explain to a six year old. “Dean… I need to tell you some stuff… and it won’t be easy.”

            “Dad?” Dean asked looking up at him.

            “I…taught you to use the shotgun in case of an emergency…”

            “Okay, but that’s no big deal, Dad,” Dean said slowly.

            “In case of… a monster,” John finished looking anywhere but his son.

            Several seconds passed by until Dean spoke. “Monsters? But my teachers told me monsters don’t exist.”

            “They didn’t know the truth,” John spoke.

            “Dad…you’re not pulling a prank, right? Because it’s not even April Fool’s,” Dean pointed out with unease in his voice.

            “No, Dean. I’m being 100% serious,” John said finally looking into his son’s eyes.

            That was when Dean knew his dad wasn’t lying. The look in his eyes… there was nothing warm or funny in them; his dad’s eyes were cold, hard, and empty. “Oh,” Dean said softly.

            “It’s okay, Dean,” John murmured in an attempt to comfort his eldest. “I fight them. I hunt them down all over, that’s why we have to move so much. While I’m around, they can’t hurt you.”

            Dean hated how his dad seemed to guess what he was thinking.  His voice wavered a bit as he said, “Yeah? And what happens when you’re not here, Dad? Huh?”

            “I’ll always be here, Dean-o.”

            “No, Dad. You leave, and me and Sammy just sit around,” Dean said beginning to get angry.

            “That’s why I’m telling you. You need to know how to protect yourself and your brother. You’ve got to know how to take care of him, Dean. He’s little and he won’t know any better,” John said firmly. Dean looked taken aback for a moment, but his expression clouded over.

            “ Don’t ever tell him,” Dean said suddenly very authoritative.

            “What? I won’t,” John said, surprised by the sudden change of attitude.

            “Good. Sammy’s little and stuff. He won’t ever get it. I’ll take care of him,” Dean said with a steely look in his eyes. “ ‘Sides, he’s a cry baby and is scared of everything anyway.” Dean attempted a smile for his father, to show he was fine. He was _always_ fine.

            John wondered how old Dean really was. Not six, that was for sure. The way his son cared for his little brother and the way he took everything he had just told him so well made him proud, if just a bit sad for the end of his innocence.

            “One thing, Dad…” Dean said as his voice trailed off.

            “Yeah?”

            “They got mom, didn’t they?” Dean asked without an ounce of emotion in his voice.

            John rubbed his face with one hand. He stared at the ground for a while before he quietly said, “Yeah. They did. But we’ll get the thing that did it, Dean. I promise.”

            Dean stood in silence for a moment before replying firmly, “ _Good_.” Dean turned away from his dad and walked back into the motel room just as Sammy was beginning to stir.

            John’s gazed followed his first-born’s back into the room. Dean was always surprising him when it came to these things. He waited a while as he stared into space. Everything was gonna change now. John looked at his watch. Nearly 6:15. He walked inside the motel room to the sound of Sam gurgling.

            “Dee! Cheeooo!” Sam squealed at Dean as he pounded a small fist on the little table by the mini fridge.

            “I’m coming, I can’t pour cheerios that fast, Sammy. They’ll spill all over and make a mess,” Dean explained.

            John drank in the scenery. It wasn’t perfect; Dean now had the task of taking care of himself and Sammy, and he wouldn’t really ever be the same again…but despite all that, it felt calm for the first time in a while. His boys were squabbling over cereal and some football game was playing on TV. John sat on his bed as he wondered if this was the closest to happiness he’d ever come.

            _Probably._

_But it’s worth it._


	4. Chapter 4: Forts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So Sorry about not updating more frequently. I get ideas in my head and never get a chance to properly write them out. I've just been incredibly busy. Just had midterms. Phew. Those were brutal...chemistry and I are just not compatible. I just saw the season 9 premiere tonight to celebrate the end of midterms. I think I scared my roommate. Here's a shorter chapter that's pretty fluffy! Anyway, read/review/comment/etc I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Also- the stuff about the quest and the knights is all true. I was a big Arthurian legends geek and read all the stories about them, so sorry if that bogs the story down a bit. Too much trivia I'll never need just floats all over my brain.

**Chapter 4: Forts**

Dean was slumped in a chair watching a terrible infomercial. It was something about a pet rock that was really popular. Dean rolled his eyes at the thought and glanced out the window. The rain was coming down pretty hard; it had started raining about 2 hours ago, but it kept getting worse. Thunder was now involved. Sammy was asleep and there was nothing to do in the sleazy motel. Dad had said he was going "out" for a few days, but Dean knew better. There was something out there. Something evil that was killing things. He just didn't know where it was…  _Or if dad's still alive._  Dean pushed the thought out of his mind. His dad would be okay. He was a superhero.

Dean sat for a few more minutes, but finally couldn't take it anymore. "Hey," Dean said poking Sammy in the stomach, "get up."

Sammy groaned and slapped Dean's hand away. "What d'you wan' Dee?"

"I'm bored. Let's do something "

Sammy just stared at him. "'S rainin' Dee."

"Well… want me to read you a story?" Dean said with a pleading grin.

Sammy rolled over with a small mumble. "Okay, but one with pictures."

"Done. I have just the story. It's this comic book that has lots of stories about different things." Dean walked over to his small bag of things that belonged to him and pulled out a comic that read  _Classics Illustrated: King Arthur and the Knight's of the Round Table._ Dean waved the comic in Sammy's face. "It's about this knight that goes on a quest and stuff."

Sammy grabbed the comic out of Dean's hands and inspected the picture. "Read," he commanded.

"Fine," Dean said holding up his hand in mock defeat. "Anything for you princess."

Sammy stuck his tongue out.

"Once upon a time, in a land called Camelot, there was a mighty King names Arthur. He was a just and fair ruler whose subjects loved him dearly. Arthur had knights that served him loyally. They were known as knights of the round table," Dean read steadily. He secretly loved to practice his reading; his teacher said he was one of the best in the class. He continued, "One evening an unknown Green Knight stormed into Arthur's castle challenging the chivalry of Arthur's Knights. He posed a challenge for any knight willing to accept it in order to prove their honor: any knight would be given the chance to kill him, if in one year he could return the favor. Gawain, one of Arthur's knights stepped in and sliced the Green Knight's head off. However, the Green Knight simply picked up his head and put it back on."

"Like a ghost?" Sammy asked confused.

"No!" Dean blurted a bit too forcefully. "I mean, no he's just some special knight, I guess." Sammy stared at him before nodding that he should continue.

"The Green Knight told Gawain that in a year he'd do the same to him. Gawain accepted, graciously. Gawain was one of Arthur's most honorable Knights. He was kind, courageous, humble, honest, and modest…"

Dean continued reading, but Sammy was lost in his own thoughts. King Arthur's knights were so brave, and noble… he could never do that. It was crazy. How could someone risk getting hurt and be so  _nice_ about it. Sammy felt a pit grow in his stomach. He could never be a real knight…

"Sammy? You with me?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, Dee. "Jus' don' like thun-duh," Sammy lied.

"Don't worry, nothins gonna happen," Dean said putting his arm around his brother's shoulders. "But, if you want, we can protect ourselves."

Sammy's curiosity peaked. "How?"

"We build our own castle, like in the story. Our own fort!" Dean said with a mischievous smile.

"Yes, Dee! Yes!" Sammy squealed forgetting about his thoughts. "How you gonna do it?"

"See the beds next to each other? Those are the castle walls. We'll build a door with the pillows and we'll put a blanket on top to cover the walls and we'll have a nice castle." Dean began pilling all the pillows on the floor. "You just gonna sit there? Help get the blankets!"

Sammy sprung up and pulled all the blankets off the bed. Dean was arranging the pillows at the edge of both beds. They resembled a small blockage so the small rectangle between the two beds was enclosed.

"Got this, Dee," Sammy said handing him the blanket.

"Okay, I'm gonna go out of the fort and then put the roof on. You have to let me in through the pillow-doors when I give the secret knock, ok?"

"What knock, Dee?"

"This one," Dean said tapping out a  _dundun-dundundun._ "Okay I'm going out, wish me luck," he said with a wink. Dean walked outside the fort and draped the blanket over the gap between the beds evenly and then climbed off one of them and gave the secret knock.

"Was that it, Dee?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sammy, now lemme in!"

Sammy pulled back a pillow and Dean squeezed in with a flashlight. "Now nothin' can get us, Sammy."

"Nothin?"

"Nope. We're the brave knights of Camelot, Sammy!"

Sammy grimaced. "No."

"No?"

"I'm not a knight, Dee."

"Sure you are. What are you then? The princess? Princess Sammy?"

Sammy sighed in annoyance. "No. Not the pwin-cess, Dee. Not any-fin."

"You're a lot of fun," Dean said with a slight concern in his voice. "You okay?"

"Yeah. But I'm jus' me. You're a knight tho." Sammy meant it, too. His brother was the best big brother ever. He always shared his toys, gave him the last bits of candy, and didn't get too mad when Sammy spilled red juice all over his white shirt. His brother was a lot better than anyone he knew.

"I can't be a knight without you," Dean said. "How about if we're both spies then? You'd be the youngest spy ever! 3 years old!"

"Fine. But you aren't that much older Dee. I'm prolly just as smart," Sammy said with a smile.

"Funny. You've just been demoted to my personal butler. I'll save the world, you just clean up."

Sam pulled out one of the pillows and smacked Dean in the head with it. "Nuh-uh Dee!"

Dean yanked a pillow out for himself and (lightly) hit his brother back. "Respect your elders, shorty," Dean said quoting his dad. He had no idea what it actually meant, just that whoever was older got to say it.

"Never!" Sammy said jumping on top of Dean and squishing him.

"I'm so gonna kill you."

"You can't!" Sammy said grinning. His brother always knew how to make things right.

* * *

John walked into the dark motel room later that night at around 4:30 am. He was drenched from head to toe and had a nasty gash on his arm. A haunted Laundromat was nothing to joke about. "Dean?"

No response

"Dean?" John inquired a little louder.

No response.

"Dean?" John said frantically finding a light switch.

He flipped the lights on and he noticed the lump in between the two beds. "What the hell?" he mumbled.

Just then a small head popped out. "Shh, Dad. Be quiet 'cause Dee jus' fell asleep."

"Hey kiddo," John said kneeling down. "What's this?"

"Dee an' me made a fort an' then I beat him up with pillows."

John chuckled at the thought of small Sammy beating anything up. "Can I come in?"

"You hafta know the knock dad," Sammy replied earnestly.

"Can you give me the knock?"

Sammy hesitated. "Um. I dunno, Dad. 'S a secret."

John could see Sammy really wanted this to be between Dean and him. "I get it, kiddo. Go back to bed in your fort, or whatever it is. Night."

"Night, Dad," Sammy said crawling back into the fort.

John stared at the mess of pillows and blankets and smiled. Someday they'd both have to grow up and face what was out there. But for now, he let them stay in the world of pure imagination. He slumped onto his bed void of pillows and blankets, and was out within five minutes. 


	5. Chapter 5: Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of Halloween coming up, I figured I would write a chapter about Halloween. I'm proud I've been responsible enough to update semi-frequently since college classes are a bit crazy right now. Anyway, as always read, review, enjoy! Hope you're all having a wonderful October!

**Chapter 5: Halloween**

**“** Aww, c’mon, dad. Please!” came a whine from a sullen-looking Dean.

            “No, Dean. Drop it.” John said irritated. He turned around from the array of missing people pinned to the motel wall to face his eldest. Dean was standing his ground, although he seemed to have lost his nerve after his father had shouted at him.

            “Dad, I promise I won’t let anything happen. It’s just that he’s been driving me nuts about it all week. He really, _really_ wants to go,” Dean pleaded.

            “You don’t know what’s out there at night, Dean,” John replied exasperated. “Plus, tons of people will be walking around, you could lose him.”

            “No, Dad, I swear. I won’t.” Dean looked directly into his dad’s eyes. John could feel the guilt-trip radiating out of them.

            “I don’t know, Dean…” John’s voice trailed off.

            “You can come with us if you want, dad! I promise I’ll look after Sammy.”

Walking away from Dean, John peeked into the room adjacent to the one he was in; a cartoon on TV happily entertained Sammy as Dean begged his dad to let them go trick-or-treating. He sighed and turned back to Dean.

            “You know I can’t go, I’m working a case. Luckily this is just a pit stop city and there’s nothing freaky here as far as I can tell. If I let you go, and that’s a _big_ if, you have to stay with him at all times. Things could be out there, Dean.” John rubbed his eyes. It was far easier to keep his kids on lockdown.

            “Dad, I swear. I won’t let anythin’ happen to him,” Dean replied earnestly while attempting to contain the glow in his eyes.

            “Do you even have anything to dress up in?”

            Dean grinned mischievously, “I have something planned.”

            “God help me,” John replied with a smile.

            “Go out and show dad, Sammy,” Dean said eagerly as he pushed his brother into the small kitchen where his dad was about 4 hours later. It was beginning to get dark and if Dean had actually convinced his dad to let them go out, he didn’t want to push his luck and wait a whole lot longer.

            “Boo!” Sammy said running into the kitchen. He was wearing a sheet with holes cut out for eyes and arms. Although Dean couldn’t see it, he knew his brother was grinning from ear to ear.

            “Ah… you’re a ghost,” John said after examining the costume for a good 30 seconds.

            “Yes, he’s a _scary_ ghost,” Dean said making his eyes wide at his dad as if to say ‘ _c’mon tell him it’s cool even though we both know it sucks.’_

“Yes, real scary, Sammy. Look at you. Who made this?” John inquired looking at Dean. “It’s exactly like a _Charlie Brown_ ghost from the cartoons.”

            Sammy, never having seen _Charlie Brown_ ignored his father and excitedly shouted, “Dee had the idea, but I cut the eyes out!”

            “I can see,” John said looking at the crooked eyeholes, “it’s very…original.”

            Sammy smiled and seemed to deem that a great evaluation and he skipped back into the main room and pulled off a pillowcase to use for the candy.

            “Where exactly did you get the sheet, Dean?”

            “Uhh. Well, don’ be mad. I just sorta saw it…on the maid’s cart… and borrowed it. Permanently.” Dean shuffled his feet and became very interested in his fingernails as he waited for his dad to tell him that he couldn’t just take something.

            John snorted. “Little pistol, I bet the maid loves you.”

            Dean flashed him an impish smile. “I learned from the best.”

            Sammy chose that time to begin whining and pulling on Dean’s sleeve. “Are we gonna go, Dee? The candy’s gonna be gone! C’mon, Dee, C’mon!”

            Sighing, John turned to Dean. “Can you go check for my wallet in the bathroom, Sammy?”

            Sammy walked out to go look for the wallet in the bathroom with a huff.

            “Take this, Dean,” he said handing him a small handgun.

            Dean’s eyes grew wide as saucers. He gingerly took the gun and put it on a large inside pocket of the jacket he had. “Dad, I...”

            “No, listen Dean. If anything happens, you need to shoot first, ask questions later. I don’t think anything will happen, but you never know. So take it, and be careful. Got it?”

            Suppressing a gulp Dean forced himself to look at his Dad, “sure, Dad.”

            “I’m serious Dean, you gotta—“

            “Watch out for Sammy, I know.” Dean said his eyes a bit weary from all the times his dad had told him that. It was becoming a creepy mantra. Or a cult code. _The Winchester Cult. Awesome._

            John stared at Dean for a few moments before looking away and saying, “and watch out for yourself, too.”

            “Yeah, dad. Course.”

            Sammy walked into the room again. “Dad I can’ find it!”

            “Huh, must have had it on me this whole time,” John said pulling it out of his pocket. Dean rolled his eyes. Classic dad.

            “Alright let’s go Sammy,” Dean said walking out the front door of the motel. “We’re gonna have to walk a few blocks down to the nearest section of houses, c’mon.” Dean held out his hand for Sammy to hold.

            “I’m not a baby, Dee. I don’ need ta hold your hand.” Sammy said.

            Slightly hurt, Dean retorted, “Yeah sure. When you can say ‘Dean’ correctly you won’t be baby.”

            “I can say Dee,” Sammy responded partly serious, partly offended.

            “Uh-huh. In the meantime,” Dean replied grabbing Sammy’s hand, “you’re gonna stick with me.”

            Sammy gave a huffy sigh that was becoming so characteristic of him. Dean had never met anyone who could be fine one minute and then sulk for hours the next.

            “We have to strategize, Sammy. We need to hit the biggest houses first to get the most candy outta this.” Dean was concocting a game plan in his head as they walked; they were going to get a ton of candy and then ration it throughout the year to maximize the chocolaty goodness.

            Sammy half-listened. He was just excited to get out of the motel. They’d been there for two days while his dad looked at papers over and over again. “Hey, Dee, where’s your cos-tum?”

            “I’m wearing it,” Dean said looking at Sammy.

            “Nuh-uh, Dee. It’s jus’ your clothes.”

            “No, I’m someone else. Promise.”

            “Who?”

            “I’m dad!” Dean said with a smile.

            Sammy looked at him and finally spoke up. “You’re dad?”

            “Yep, pretty neat. And way easier than your ghost.”

            “Why are you dad, Dee?” Sammy asked confused.

            “Because… dad is the best dad in the world and he helps make the world a good place,” Dean said looking down at his little brother with a sincere expression.

            Sammy couldn’t understand why Dean thought that. Their dad wasn’t always there and when Sammy got scared it wasn’t his dad that he went to for help. E thought for a while and said, “ yeah, okay, Dee. You can be dad, but you’re way too smiley to be dad.”

            “Samuel Winchester, don’t use that tone with me,” Dean said authoritatively as he furrowed his brow.

            “Now you’re dad,” Sammy said laughing.

            Thirty minutes later the boys reached the neighborhood where kids went trick-or-treating. Dean looked at his wristwatch. 7:45. He had to be home by 10, so he calculated they had enough time to go to all the big houses, decorated houses (because why else would they put decorations up if they weren’t going to have candy), and all the houses with little candy bowls outside that hoped to avoid the crowds of rowdy children. Dean tore down the street to the big houses, dragging Sammy along since his feet weren’t keeping up too well.

            They reached a huge house with fog and pre-recorded loops going of wails and moans. It seemed to be an amateur haunted house. “Hey! Sammy! Wanna go in?” Dean asked, an excited energy practically spilling out his ears.

            “Is it real scary Dee?” Sammy looked a bit uneasy.

            Dean noticed his brother wasn’t looking too thrilled. “No, Sammy, it’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time. Promise.”

            “Okay, Dee. Les go!”

            The house was two stories with spiraling staircases on each end , with the bottom of the house the designated “haunted” area in which the owners had set up a variety of rooms with different terrors.

 “C’mon Sammy,” Dean said pulling his brother close to him as he tried to push his way through the throng of people to get into the first room. The first room was lit with a purple light, casting eerie shadows on everybody. There was a sign that read “Place hands in bowl to feel human eyes.” Dean stuck his hand in and pulled out a peeled grape. “See, Sammy. Nothing to worry about.”

Sammy smiled a little. “What about over there, Dee?” Sam pointed at the next room.

Dean held his little brother’s hand led him to the next room. A sign above the door to the second room read, “One room down, two to go. Enter with caution.” Dean pushed the door open. This room had a pitch-black lighting. It was impossible to make out what was more than 3 feet in front of him. Dean gripped Sammy’s hand tightly as a crowd of 8 teenagers pushed though the door.

“This sucks, man. I can’t see shit, and it’s not very frightening,” came a voice.

“Shut up, Jeremy. You could trip and break your neck in the dark. Oh wait, that’d be an improvement,” snapped a girl’s voice.

Dean couldn’t help but smile. The teens bickered back and forth as they passed Dean and Sammy in the room.

“I’m thirsty, Dee,” came Sam’s whisper.

“Alright, Sammy. When we get out of this room we can get you a juice or something.” The Winchesters followed the teenagers and were eventually caught up with them. The arguing hadn’t ceased.

“Only babies would be scared of this,” a gruff voice muttered.

“You should be crying by now, then,” a girl replied.

Dean could see a faint light up ahead. He pulled Sammy trying to get in front of the party-poopers when all of the sudden a girl leading the pack of teens led out a blood-curdling scream.

The sound shocked Dean and he jumped around and let go of Sammy’s hand, just as the teens on the sides of him began running to the exit. Somebody was coming behind them with what looked like a chainsaw. Dean tensed and his hand automatically went to his pocket where the gun was. He waited in the shadows, and finally caught a glimpse of the attacker. It was some bald guy with a toy chainsaw.

“That’ll teach those brats,” he muttered to himself and walked out of the room. 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He chuckled and said, “that’s what they get for complainin’, right Sammy?”

Dean turned and squinted his eyes. He couldn’t make out where Sammy was. “Sammy! SAMMY!” Dean bolted out of the room wondering if his brother had gotten trampled by the frightened teens. “Oh god. Oh god.”

Running back into the room, Dean knelt down and crawled over every inch trying to find Sammy, to no avail. “Crap. Oh crap.”

Dean exited the second room in a panic. “Help! Somebody help!” he shouted. Nobody really paid too much attention to him; the entire house had prerecorded screams.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted running outside the house. There was no sign of him. What had happened to him? Nobody could’ve kidnapped him…could they? Dean gulped and went back into the house. Sammy wasn’t kidnapped. He wasn’t. Just lost in the mansion of a house. Dean entered the first room again. He squinted in the violet lighting, but he couldn’t see anybody. Everybody had moved on to the other rooms. It was quiet other than the tapes they had going. Dean turned to leave when a _creak_ from behind him made him jump. Dean pulled out the gun reflexively, and turned to see the source of the noise.

            “Dee?” Sammy said with a sniffle. He was hiding under the table where the “real human eyeballs” were.

            “Sammy! Thank god. I thought—well you disappeared,” Dean said breathing a sigh of relief as he stowed the gun and ran to his brother.

            “The big kids ran and I got stuck there so I ran too. One of ‘em stepped on my finger. Then I got scared and hid under the table so no one would step on me no more.” Sammy whispered embarrassed, trying to wipe-away frightened tears.

            “Don’t worry Sammy. You’re okay. I gotcha,” Dean said picking him up.

            ‘Why do ya have a gun, Dee? Is it real?” Sammy asked as he burrowed his head on his brother’s shoulder.

            “I told you I was dad,” Dean said with a smile.

            “No, you’re you, Dee. An’ that’s good,” Sammy said with a yawn.

            Dean opened his mouth to refute his brother’s claim, but closed it again. “Thanks, Sammy.”

            “Dee?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Les go home. I don’ like Halloween,” Sammy muttered.

            “Okay, Sammy. I’ll buy you a bag of candy at that gas station by the motel,” Dean said as he carried his little brother out of the house and began the walk back to the motel. “Oh and, Sammy?”

            “Yeah Dee?”

            “Uh, you mind not tellin’ dad this?” Dean asked tentatively.

            “I won’ Dee. Promise,” Sammy said beginning to fall asleep on Dean’s shoulder.

            Dean smiled as he felt Sammy’s breath getting slower and steadier on his neck. “Happy Halloween, Sammy.”

  


	6. Clowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I know the delay on this was really long, but I've been swamped with uni work. Let me tell you, a biochem major isn't easy... Anyway, here's the next chapter, it shouldn't be too angsty, so enjoy. As always, read & review!

**Chapter 6: Clowns**

            John Winchester sat in the small kitchen of their tiny apartment. There was a hunt about 2 hours away he was working on—something was causing people to reenact gruesome horror movie deaths. He could understand one nut job taking a movie too seriously, but 6 in the past 3 weeks? There was no such thing as coincidence. He suspected some sick satanic bastard was probably dabbling with witchcraft, but he couldn’t be too sure. He planned on meeting a hunter-friend (did hunter’s have friends?) of his up at the epicenter of all the deaths in a few hours. He felt comfortable enough leaving Dean and Sammy alone, they were far enough away from it all, and Dean wasn’t going to go and do something stupid.

            The apartment telephone rang and John could hear Sammy’s small voice answer, “Hi this is Sam, do ya need something?” John chuckled. Sam’s vocabulary and pronunciation had grown exponentially—not to mention his belief that he was old enough to be independent. He didn’t want Dean to baby him anymore, but that wasn’t going to stop Dean from trying. “Mhm, my dad’s over in the kitchen I think. I’m gonna get him, but don’t hang up, ok?” Sammy shuffled into the kitchen, his small frame barely taller than the table John was sitting at. “Dad ya got someone on the phone.”

            John got up and picked up the kitchen extension of the phone. “Winchester here,” here said with a note of seriousness. “Hey Caleb, you getting ready to meet Dave up at his place and end this whole wi—ah,” John glanced at Sammy who was standing by the table casually eavesdropping. “The ah—business we have to do?”

            “John we have a problem,” came Caleb’s voice from the other end. “Dave…he…they got him, whoever they are.”

            Sammy stared at his Dad’s face. It had clouded over and his eyes…his eyes were scary. Sammy made to leave the room, but not before he saw his dad shout, “Dammit! Son of a bitch! I’m leaving now, lie low Caleb. If I hear that one more person I know gets slaughtered…” John’s eyes flashed menacingly. John hung up the phone and was deadly quiet for a moment.

            Sammy didn’t know what had just happened, but it wasn’t good. His dad looked like he was going to hit something. In a fit of rage John grabbed the phone and hurled it at the wall. He saw the tiny bits of the object crack, and then shower the floor. He was breathing heavily and he could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He whirled around and saw Sammy standing very still. He and his youngest made eye contact. Sammy’s eyes held pure terror. “Sa—“ John began, but it was too late. Dean had run into the kitchen, and Sam had instantly retreated behind his brother’s taller figure.

            “It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said looking over his shoulder at his brother’s cowering figure. Dean looked up at his father. Dean didn’t have fear in his eyes; it was something closer to a mixture of uncertainty and weariness at the amount of times he’d had to comfort his dad. “Dad, do you want me to get you something to drink?” Dean asked tentatively.

            John stared at his oldest son. Dean was a good kid; he somehow always managed to snap him back to reality. “Ah, no. I’m—I’m fine. I’ve got to go. Something urgent, “ John flashed a it’s-about- _that_ -thing-we-don’t-tell-Sammy-about look at Dean, “has come up. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Maybe in a week or so.”

            Dean looked at his father’s hardened features, and understood even without him saying what had happened. Something had happened to expedite the case. Most likely someone had died. _Seems to happen to us a lot,_ Dean thought sarcastically. “Okay, dad. Go.”

            “Here’s money,” John said shoving a wad of cash into Dean’s hand. “Dean… you know the drill.” The unspoken ‘ _shoot first, ask questions later’_ was written all over his face.

            Dean nodded. He knew what he had to do to keep his little brother safe. No matter what happened he had to keep Sammy safe. His dad gave a one-sided attempt at a smile that just made him look like he was in pain. John patted Sammy’s head, and Sammy flinched. John stopped for the slightest moment and looked as if he were going to say something, but changed his mind. He clasped Dean’s shoulder as a form of comfort and rushed through the door.  

            Sammy watched his dad speed away, and was left looking at the large door. “Is dad gonna be okay Dean?”

            “Dad? Course. He’s always okay,” Dean said scoffing at Sammy’s worries. Truth was, though, Dean _was_ worried. He always worried for his dad.

            “Is he…is he gonna be back soon?” Sammy asked uncertainly.

            “’Course. Why wouldn’t he be? Who else is gonna put up with you?” Dean smiled at his brother as he pounced him and put him in a headlock.

            “Dean! Getoffa me! Getofff!” Sammy whined trying in vain to shake his larger brother off. “You’re lucky I’m littler. I’m gonna be bigger and then I’ll get you.”

            “Sure you will, Sammy,” Dean chuckled letting his little brother go. “At least you can say ‘Dean’ now, so there’s a start.

            Sam glared at Dean. Dean had to admit, it was the best bitchface he’d ever seen—and he’d gotten a lot of looks like that from teachers due to his varying excuses as to why he didn’t do his homework or why he “accidently” had to slug some kid with a backpack. “So… wanna get somethin’ to eat?” Dean asked.

            “Yeah, I’m hungry,” Sammy admitted in a pouty voice indicating he hadn’t forgiven Dean for getting one over him so easily.

_Sammy really does hate not being good at things, and he has a control freak thing going and he’s 5. At this rate he’ll be unbearable by the time he’s my age,_ Dean thought to himself. “Well, there’s a few burger joints about a mile from here near that community college or something,” Dean explained grabbing his jacket and stuffing the money in his pocket.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Sammy responded slipping on his pre-knotted shoes. He hated having to be a baby and ask his brother or his dad to tie them for him, so he just never untied them, something Dean didn’t fail to notice.

Dean and Sammy marched out the front door into the crisp autumn air. Their tennis shoes made _squeak squeak squeak_ noises in synch as they trotted along the empty road. It was usually a pretty busy town, but there was nobody in sight.

“Where is everyone?” Dean asked quizzically. Usually kids were running up and down the block.

“I dunno. Busy?” Sammy responded not really paying attention to Dean’s inquiries.

Dean noticed Sammy’s distracted look. “You okay? I was just messing with you at home,” Dean told Sammy wondering if he’d actually upset him by putting him in a headlock.

“Wha—no I forgive you. It’s just…”

“What?”

“You and Dad never tell me anything…” Sammy’s voice trailed off.

Dean felt a pit forming in his stomach. He was so not having this talk. “What do you mean?”

“Why do we move so much?” Sammy looked fiercely into his brother’s eyes. Dean held his gaze briefly, but broke eye contact a moment later. “That’s what I mean. You guys think I’m dumb.”

“No! That’s not it at all,” Dean exclaimed frustrated. He couldn’t explain the situation, but he didn’t want Sammy to think he was keeping him in the dark because he thought he was stupid.

“Then what is it, Dean? I can understand.”

“Sammy you’re 5.”

“So? I learned to read by practicing on my own after you taught me the alphabet. Mos’ of the time people think I’m 8.”

“Whoa, big man there. 8 years old.”

“It’s not much younger than you. You’re only 9 ½,” Sammy pointed out.

“9 ¾,” Dean refuted with a charming Winchester smile.

“Stop it, Dean,” Sammy muttered annoyed that his brother thought he was a baby.

“What do you want me to tell you, Sammy?” Dean asked dropping the smile.

Sammy stopped walking. “Is it—is it because we don’t have a mom? Is that why we move a lot?”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Something caught his throat and he momentarily felt ill. He fake-coughed for a moment and finally looked at Sam. “Stop asking, Sammy.”

“Why Dean?” Sammy muttered his frustration wavering slightly at the look on his brother’s face.

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer, Dean. Dee,” Sammy said using his pet name for Dean, “please.”

Dean opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “I can’t answer that Sammy, because… because you don’t wanna know.” Dean turned away from his brother and began walking away, indicating that he was done talking.

Sammy stared at him dumbfounded. He couldn’t fathom what was so awful that his brother was acting so evasive. He sighed and slowly began walking again. Whatever it was, he was determined to find out no matter what. He didn’t know when or how, but he would.

Dean and Sammy fell back into synch as they walked, but were stopped in their tracks as a line down the block was impeding their pathway. Dean glanced at Sammy and they exchanged a “ _let’s check it out”_ look. They pushed their way up to the beginning of the line and saw that the community college had been turned into a giant carnival, an the people were lining up to get into the makeshift gate.

Dean slowly turned to Sammy. “Ya know, I’m pretty sure it’s just as much as food…” Dean’s voice trailed off hoping his little brother would catch the hint.

Sammy stared at him and then smiled, “it’d be sad if we didn’t just check it out.”

“Now we’re talkin,” Dean smiled as he grabbed Sammy’s hand and yanked him, cutting to the front of the line. “I’d like two tickets, please,” Dean said putting on maximum cute kid ability.

“I think you have to be 12 and over to come in alone,” the girl at the gate told Dean.

“I look good for my age,” Dean replied flashing the pearly whites.

The girl snorted. Was he trying to _flirt_ with her? She looked at the two boys dressed in jackets at least two sizes to big and smiled. They were cute kids, and the little one looked as if he might cry if she said no. She handed the older one of the two the tickets, “Here take these, _sir,”_ she said laughing, “and don’t get into trouble or my boss will eat me alive.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean said innocently. As soon as both boys were in Dean chuckled. Chicks loved the cute kid thing. He’d used it at school plenty of times.

Sammy was too busy trying not to laugh. “Ya know girls have cooties right?”

“You’re a…cootie,” Dean finished lamely. “Nice puppy eyes, by the way. Look like you’re gonna cry, people lap that stuff right up.”

“Thanks, it’s how I get dad to let me out of doing chores,” Sammy boasted.

“Professional con at a young age. I can dig that.”

“Shut up.”

“Heh,” Dean smiled to himself glad he’d gotten off of the topic of dad’s work. “Wanna go on a ride or go in a funhouse or something?”

Sammy looked around. “I dunno, but I don’t really feel like a ride.”

“Funhouse?” Dean asked as he led Sammy towards them anyway. Both boys stepped inside the fun house. Mirrors covered the entirety of the room; everything from the ceiling to the floor was covered in. Dean was enjoying it a little too much and made faces at himself at every possible angle.

“Ugh, I’m gonna be sick,” Sammy muttered.

“Why did you catch sight of your own reflection?” Dean joked.

Sammy shot him a classic _Sammy_ look. “ _No._ I’m getting dizzy ‘cause of all the mirrors.”

“Alright let’s go into the next part of the funhouse. Don’t puke on me, or I’m gonna be pissed,” Dean said trying to get Sammy to smile.

The next portion of the funhouse was the standard obstacle courses with ropes and conveyor belts that pushed against the way you were supposed to be walking. Sammy loved the conveyor belt; he found it really fun to run against the direction of the belt. He thought it was kinda like going up the down escalator.

“Havin’ fun Buzz?” Dean asked with an eyeroll as Sam took large steps that reminded him of the moon landing.

“Look, Dean, you can run but you stay in the same place!” Sammy screamed with giggles escaping him. Dean smiled, Sammy rarely laughed like—well, like a kid. Half the time they stayed in crappy motels and were too tired from the constant moving and the other half of the time Sammy would be lost in his thought or trying to teach himself to read. Sammy was right; the kid was really more like 8 inside.

After 15 more minutes, Sammy exhausted himself. He walked over to Dean. “What’s in that room?” he asked pointing towards a brightly lit room.

“Let’s find out,” Dean replied walking over.

Both boys walked in and were greeted with the most garish smiling animals looking down upon at them from the walls and the ceiling. The room itself was an odd circular shape, so it looked as if the walls were caving in. In the middle was a platform-island that people were sitting around. Sammy immediately disliked it; the room made him feel trapped. There were kids sitting around the island waiting for something. The boys took a seat in the middle as people kept piling into the small room.

“Mom, I don’t wanna sit and see a stupid carny show,” Dean heard from behind him.

_‘Huh, carny show. Probably clowns and animals and the whole nine yards,’_ Dean thought to himself.

The room dimmed and it got deathly quiet as the spotlight, “Well hello there boys and girls!” came a voice. Sammy couldn’t see all that well since someone was blocking his view. He caught a glimpse of the voice. It was something that looked like a person with bright orange hair sticking every which way. Its face… it’s face was white with weird red paint on the noise. Sammy shuddered involuntarily. It looked like a person and the shape was similar… but it was an unsettling familiarity. It was wrong in the most normal way. As long as it was far away Sammy figured he could deal with the weird person on stage. He felt a tap on his shoulder. “Little boy, are you okay?”

He turned around and was face-to-face with another one of the _things._ Sammy let out a terrified shriek and tried to stand up right away, but ended up bumping the person in front of him.

“Hey watch it, kid!”

Sammy didn’t care. He scrambled to get to his feet and began pushing people out of his way or accidentally stepping on them as he fled from the clown. He wasn’t aware of Dean calling out his name or the clown chasing him to apologize. He pushed his way out of the room, back through the room with obstacle courses and was once again in the mirror room. The mirrored room had a purple lighting that cast a sinister glow on everything.

Sammy began trying to find where the exit, but it was difficult due to the amount of mirrors reflecting the door. Sammy stared at the ground trying to use the mirror on the floor to guide him since he wasn’t able to think clearly. He looked up and the mirror in front of him reflected one of the clowns right behind him.

Sammy let out a bloodcurdling yell and backed himself up against a mirror.

Sammy heard a voice shout “Hey, Sammy! You’re alright!” Dean’s voice. He was safe.

“Dean,” Sammy squeaked.

“It’s all right, I gotcha,” Dean said reaching his brother and picking him up, despite Sammy telling him he wasn’t a baby anymore. For once, Sammy didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry man!” The clown said to Dean. “I didn’t mean to scare him.”

Dean looked at him, “he’s just, uh, sensitive. Don’t worry about it.” Locating the door Dean made a beeline towards it and left the funhouse. “You can open your eyes, Sammy…and maybe not choke me.”

Sammy released the grip on his brother’s shirt and clenched his fists. “What is it?”

“What is wh—oh the guy? He’s dressed as a clown… they’re supposed to be funny,” Dean mumbled as he carried his brother out the carnival door.

“They’re creepy,” Sam retorted.

“People have said the same about you,” Dean smirked.

Sammy glared.

“Well, I could tell you thought they were creepy. You nearly peed your pants.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

About halfway home Dean put Sammy down, and neither of them said much else. Dean had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind though. If this was how Sammy reacted with _clowns_ how could he ever know about monsters? And he couldn’t keep it a secret forever…Sammy was becoming too aware of it all.

Dean sighed. “Dude. I just realized…what are we gonna eat?”

Sammy stared at him. “What can you cook?”

“Um. Toast. And I burn that sometimes.”

After trying to pretend to be mad, Sammy laughed and Dean joined in. Dean put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. They’d figure it out. And in the meantime…Sammy was scared of clowns. He was going to have so much to blackmail him with…

Sammy was fast asleep when the phone rang. He groggily opened his eyes and looked over at his older brother. Dean was asleep. Sammy swung his legs over his bed and shuffled to pick up the phone.

“’S Sam. D’ya need something?” he murmured into the receiver.

“Sammy? It’s dad.”

Sammy’s eyes opened all the way. “Dad? Dean’s asleep do you need me to—“

“John cut him off. “No, it’s okay Sammy. I just called to see how everything was going.”

“Fine,” Sammy replied quickly. It would be a horrible day in wherever horrible things happened if his dad found out he was scared of clowns.

“Well, good. Yeah. Okay,” John sounded strained on the other line and Sammy wondered if there was something he wanted to say.

“Dad?” Sammy asked quietly.

“Just—ah—just be good and listen to your brother, okay?”

“Yes sir,” Sammy replied.

“Bye.”

Sammy walked over to his bed, a little disappointed his dad hadn’t told him anything.

John Winchester put down the phone and sighed He stared at the plastic piece of communication and wondered why he hadn’t been able to tell his youngest son he didn’t mean to frighten him. That he was sorry. That he was sorry he drove them all around god’s green earth. That he was sorry, things couldn’t be different. But mostly that he was sorry he didn’t see him as much as a good dad should. He was sorry he never really told him he loved him.

But he couldn’t. He had to keep Sammy (and Dean) safe, and the only way to do that was by showing a little tough love and continuing to hunt the thing that destroyed life, as they knew it. So, if Sammy was going to be afraid and a little hurt at times, so be it. Better afraid than dead, anyway.

John closed his eyes, as he leaned against the headboard of another roadside motel. He allowed himself a brief moment of vulnerability and he was slowly lulled into a deep sleep. 


	7. Chapter 7: School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I got around to updating this since I have two papers due and this is my method of procrastination. Yay for responsible choices. Anyway, this is a longer chapter than usual, so I hope it isn't too slow. Also, I've never written fight scenes before, so don't judge too harshly. As always, read and review! Let me know what I can improve on/change/etc!

**Chapter 7: School**

            Dean Winchester was always a light sleeper, even when he was exhausted. His green eyes were closed, but he could sense something around him. He snapped his eyes open and gave a small yelp as a pair of hazel eyes stared back at him inches from his face.

            “Crap!” Dean said shaking off his little brother’s sneak attack. “Sammy, don’t do that!”

            Sammy stared at him with an impish grin. “You were so scared.”

            “Shut up, dude. I wasn’t scared,” Dean said rolling his eyes. “You’re just creepy. You know who watches people sleep? Stalkers.” Dean lifted his arm above his head and checked the watch that was permanently affixed to his wrist. 5:45 am. Dean dropped his arm and groaned. “Seriously? Crack of dawn?”

            “I couldn’t sleep.”

            “And you felt the need to share that problem with me?”

            Sammy glared. “I have to get ready for school!” Dean noticed his little brother rubbing his palms on his pajama pants.

            “School’s at 8, Sammy. And it’ll be fine,” Dean muttered trying to reassure his brother whilst battling the wave of sleep that threatened to overcome him.

            Climbing onto Dean’s bed and sitting on his foot, Sammy ignored his brother. “It’s my first day… what—what are they gonna make me do?” A slightly fearful look filled the large puppy eyes Sammy was using on his brother.

            Dean gave up on trying to sleep and propped himself up on his elbow and faced his brother. “I dunno what you’re gonna do. Have a pow-wow and share what you did over the summer, or something like that.” School. Dean groaned inwardly at the thought of starting the 5th grade. It wasn’t that he was stupid…but school never caught his interest. He was hardwired to dodge a bullet or kick something. Sitting and trying to remember all the various US presidents was just so _tame._

            Sammy, on the other hand, liked to sit and observe. The kid had practically taught himself how to read with Dean’s help. He was just so _disciplined._

            “Well, what do I tell them, Dean?”

            “Just tell ‘em you’ve been travelling with your dad and your idol.”

            Sammy gave Dean the special bitchy face reserved for extra-annoying moments. “Yeah, only ‘cause dad makes us. It’s not like we got a real vacation.” They had just moved to the small two-bedroom apartment two and half weeks ago, and from what Sammy had gathered, they’d only be there for about 2 months. Then off the Winchesters would go, leaving another town behind them, never looking back.

            “Whatever, Dude. It’s already 6, I have to shower,” Dean responded slowly sitting up all the way. The things he’d do for 5 minutes of sleep.

            “Dean you better not take long. I’ve gotta shower too!” Sammy yelled at his brother’s back.

            “I’m always quick, stop whining,” Dean said flashing a smile.

            25 minutes later Sammy was pounding on the bathroom door. “Dean open up! C’mon what are you? A girl?”

            Dean waited 3 more minutes until he opened the door and sauntered out with a towel around his waist and his hair in spikes. “Geez chill. You’re such a control freak.”

            Sammy angrily pushed past his brother and slammed the bathroom door in response.

            “What’s up with him?” a voice said from the doorway.

            Dean turned around to find their dad standing at the entrance of his room that he shared with Sammy. “I think he’s just nervous for his first day.”

            John gave a half-smile. It seemed so surreal to be worried about something as mundane as a first day of school. “Just tell him to calm down, he’ll be fine.”

            “Will do, dad.” Dean watched his father retreat. His dad had almost smiled. It was strange.

            Dean walked over to his closet and slowly pulled on a black shirt and a green jacket over. He wasn’t too fussed about his appearance. His devil-may-care attitude usually made up for his baggy clothes and shabby shoes. Dean wondered what school would be like if he stayed in one place forever. He couldn’t even imagine it; it was a foreign concept. Dean snapped out of his thoughts when Sammy rushed into the room, wet bangs covering his eyes.

            Sammy stood in front of the closet he shared with his brother and grabbed the nicest plaid shirt he owned. He put his arms in the sleeves (that were slightly too long because the shirt had once been Dean’s) and began trying to button the shirt with sweaty fingers. Silently, Dean walked over and bent down. He began buttoning his little brother’s shirt. Sammy looked up at Dean with a grateful look and Dean winked at him. “ _Dean could be okay, sometimes,”_ Sammy thought to himself with a smile.

            “Don’t worry, Sammy. Dad will walk you to class and make sure everything’s okay before he leaves you. It’ll be fine,” Dean comforted Sammy. Sammy didn’t know how his brother seemed to read his mind. Maybe he was psychic.

            “Really? Dad will do that?” Sammy asked.

            “Course,” Dean said with a reassuring smile.

Sammy acquiesced and smiled back. Dean always knew the right things to say.

            “Boys you’re gonna be late!” John shouted from the other room.

            “Go time,” Dean muttered to Sammy.

           

            After a rushed breakfast both boys were ushered into the Impala and driven to the elementary school 15 minutes away.  John parked the Impala close to the front of the school. Both boys got out, and Sammy waited for John to get off.

            “C’mon dad, We’ve gotta go in!” Sammy said with urgency.

            “About that… Look, Sammy, I don’t have time to drop you off, I’ve got work to do, but I’ll be here later,” John said with a slightly apologetic look.

            “But Dad—“ Sammy began

            “Sammy, no. I can’t.” John said determined.

            Sammy glowered at his father, hurt that he couldn’t be bothered to leave him at his classroom door. “It’s Sam. I don’t need you to drop me off, anyway. I’m not a baby. “ Turning on his heel, Sam stalked off.

            John had a slightly dumbstruck look on his face that matched Dean’s. “Look after him, Dean.”

            “Yes sir,” Dean said still in shock.

            “Good. I’ll be here exactly at 3:15. Don’t get into trouble,” John ordered as parting words. He pulled out of the parking lot wondering what had just happened between him and his youngest. He’d have liked to be there for Sammy—Sam, but he needed to investigate disappearances in the town over. Lives depended on it. He hoped someday Sam would understand.

            Dean watched his dad pull out of the parking lot and stood for about 15 seconds before he ran off to find his brother.

            “Sammy! Hey! Sammy” Dean called as he caught up.

            “Sam. It’s Sam. I’m serious,” Sam muttered acidly. 

            Dean looked down at him a little hurt. “Fine. Geez. _Sam._ I’ll walk you to your classroom.”

            “I can find it on my own. When you were 6, Dad let you go alone.”

            Dean’s voice faltered. “Fine. I’ll be in room 32, if you need anything.” Sam’s footsteps faded as his shaggy head disappeared from Dean’s view.

            Dean sighed, walking to his classroom. _Well here goes nothing._ Once in Room 32, he was immediately reminded of somebody’s grandmother’s living room. The room was covered in frilly, knitted letters saying things like “Welcome Back” and “Reading is fun” alongside pictures of cute animals with, thought bubbles reminding him the proper order of operations.

            Dean made his way to the back of the class and took a seat. He observed other kids coming in; most of them already knew each other. _Awesome._ As the class filled Dean sized everybody up. He could easily take most of the kids. _If only school were like Dad’s training. I’d kick ass._

            A girl with shiny read hair sat in the desk next to Dean’s. She had freckles and bright blue eyes. Her gaze was aimed at her shoes as she ignored the world around her. _She’s not looking too happy._

            “Hi, I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.” Dean held out a hand.

            The girl looked at Dean’s hand dubiously for a moment, and then shook it. “Aly. Aly Tyler.”

            “I’m new. Just moved here a few weeks ago.”

            “Oh. That’s nice. This is a nice school,” Aly told him not sounding too convinced.

            “Really? ‘Cause you sound kinda unsure about that,” Dean said smiling.

            “It’s good. Really. Sometimes kids can be mean…but you know. That’s how it goes.” She returned Dean’s smile timidly.

            Dean was about to reply to her comment when the teacher, Mrs. King, walked into the room. She was, as Dean had suspected, the grandmotherly type. She wore a knitted sweater that oozed “smothering-cat-lady.”

            “Hello class, I’m Mrs. King,” she began, “I’ll be your—“

            There was a loud boom as the door opened and smacked into the wall. A boy a good 4 inches taller than Dean swaggered into the room loudly chewing a piece of gum.

            “Owen, take your seat,” Mrs. King said slightly irritated; just her luck to get stuck with Owen Lance of all kids.

            Owen lazily made his way to the back of the room and took a seat behind Aly, and Mrs. King continued her welcome back talk.

            “Well, if it isn’t my favorite person,” Owen whispered into Aly’s ear.

            Aly visibly tensed, but said nothing in response to him.

            “Aww c’mon? Didn’t you miss me over the summer? You’re my favorite group partner,” Owen continued a malicious grin making its way onto his face.

            Dean couldn’t help but eavesdropping. The guy radiated douchebag.

            “Just leave me alone, Owen,” Aly murmured keeping her eyes on the teacher in front of her.

            “Sure thing,” Owen responded leaning back into his chair. He then began pulling Aly’s hair in small bursts.

            “Leave her alone,” Dean commanded, not being able to hold his tongue.

            “What’s it to you, Ken doll?” Owen said turning to face Dean.

            “Well, my fist breaking your nose might have something to do with it,” Dean snapped at him.

            “Dean, it’s fine,” Aly frantically, whispered turning her head slightly.

            “Mr. Lance, Mr. Winchester, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Mrs. King asked angrily.

            “No, ma’am,” Dean said turning pink. Mrs. King gave him a once-over and continued speaking.

            “Hey, Winchester, what are you gonna do when I do this to your little girlfriend?” Owen reached into his mouth and squished the masticated piece of gum into Aly’s long red hair.

            Dean stood up, but it was too late. The gum was stuck in Aly’s hair and tears were glistening in her eyes.

            “Mr. Winchester _do you need something?”_ Mrs. King asked in a shrilly voice.

            Dean glanced at Aly who frantically shook her head. “I… I need to use the restroom.”

            “Go. Quickly.” His teacher narrowed her eyes.

            “I’m feeling kinda sick,” Owen grumbled. “Can I see the nurse?”

            Mrs. King sighed. “Fine. Go.”

            Dean exited the classroom aware of Owen waiting to ambush him the moment he left the class. Dean stepped out gingerly into the crisp September air, waiting for Owen to make the first move.

            “What’s the matter, tough guy?” Owen taunted. “Not so big out of the classroom?”

            “You’re an ass. Don’t make me hurt you,” Dean said meeting his gaze with steely determination.

            “You? Hurt me? Sure.” Owen stepped back and then lunged at Dean.

            Dean sidestepped, and Owen’s larger frame worked to his disadvantage as he stumbled forward. The larger boy turned around and swung a punch as hard as he could. It would’ve been painful, but Dean stepped into his punch, catching his arm.

            Dean held Owen’s arm from behind and kicked the back of his knees, so the taller boy fell onto the pavement. “You’re gonna stop picking on Aly Tyler, or I’ll hurt you in ways you’ve never been hurt before.” Dean applied pressure to the back of Owen’s elbow to get his point across.

            Dean stepped back. “Don’t try and fight back, or I will snap your arm like a twig.” Dean marched back to the classroom without looking back.

            Dean sat back down in his seat, realizing Aly wasn’t in class. He’d have to wait until lunch to go see if she was okay.

            Owen had gotten up from the ground just in time to see Winchester walking away without a scratch on him. He’d get him back. He just had to find a way to get Winchester without touching him or the girl. Owen brushed himself off and made his way to the nurse’s office to kill time before lunch.

            Sam was still seething from earlier. His dad could be a real jerk when he wanted to be. He walked into classroom 12A and found his name taped to a desk. He sat in his seat waiting for the other kids to all sit down. Most of them walked into the class with their parents who directed them where to sit.

            “Do you need help finding your seat?” a kind voice came from behind him. Sam turned around to face a young woman with short brown hair and glasses.

            “No, it’s okay. This has my name on it,” he pointed.

            “Are you Samuel?” she asked uncertainly.

            “Yeah. Sam,” he corrected politely.

            “How did you know how to read that? Did your parents show you?” the young woman asked intrigued.

            “No, my brother Dean—he taught me the alphabet. I can read little things all by myself. Like Doctor Suess books,” Sam explained proudly.

            “Well, I’m impressed. My name is Ms. Lydia, I’m your teacher for this year,” she told Sam with a smile. “Most kids don’t know how to read when they start, so you’ll be ahead of the curve!”

            Sam smiled. He loved school already. Adults were already paying attention to him because they thought he was _smart,_ and not just some baby.

            The youngest Winchester patiently observed as the rest of his class walked in. Everybody seemed really scared, more so than him, even. A small smile escaped Sam’s lips.

            When all the kids were sitting at their corresponding desks, Ms. Lydia had everyone move to the front of the class. She was holding a ton of construction paper and different scissors. “So, I want you all to get to know each other. To do so, I want you all to make something that tells us something about yourself. It’s much better than going around and just talking about our summers, right?”

            Sam couldn’t help but silently laugh. Dean was _so_ wrong about school. He always complained about it, but it was the best thing in the world.

 Sam and his classmates were given free reign to make whatever they wanted using the crafts Ms. Lydia had provided. Sam reached for a piece of paper and his hand bumped into a boy who was reaching for the same piece. “Sorry about that,” Sam told him.

“It’s okay, here,” the boy said handing Sam the piece of paper and scissors. “I’m Alan.”

“I’m Sam.”

“Wanna sit with us? That’s Jenny. She’s my neighbor,” Alan said pointing to a curly haired girl.

“Sure!” Sam couldn’t believe he was being included. It’s not that Dean hadn’t included him in things, but he was always the little brother. Now, he was an equal.

            The three of them sat in the corner listening to Jenny talk about how her sister had just gotten her a puppy for her birthday.

            “She got you a puppy? Really?” Sam inquired.

            “Yeah, it was for my birthday. I turned 6,” Jenny explained.

            “Wow. I wish I had a dog. My dad doesn’t let me or my brother have one ‘cause we’re always moving,” Sam told her slightly dejected.

            “You should come over to my house,” Alan said excitedly, “we can visit her puppy together.”

            Sam’s eyes were alight with happiness. He nodded as he continued cutting two differently sized people. He wondered if his dad would actually let him visit someone’s house. He was always keeping Sam cooped up in some motel.

            Pondering his potential problem, Sam accidentally cut into his finger with the scissors. “Ow!” he exclaimed as blood started gushing from it.

            “Blood! Sam’s hurt! Blood!” Jenny shouted a little hysterically. Sam didn’t think it was a big deal, but Ms. Lydia rushed over.

            “It’s just a cut, but it’s pretty deep. You’ll be okay, Sam,” she assured him.

            “I know, I’m fine,” Sam said sticking his finger in his mouth.

            “Just go to the nurse and have her put some antiseptic on it. We wouldn’t want it to get infected now, would we?” She smiled warmly at him.

            Sam felt a warm happiness spread. He couldn’t remember when his dad had ever worried over a small cut. “I’ll go to the nurse’s. Room 4B?” Taking Ms. Lydia’s nod as his cue, Sam walked over to the nurse’s office.

            Inside it was cold and had walls covered in posters about staying healthy in school. He sat in a chair next to a really tall boy; Sam felt dwarfed in comparison.

            “Mr. Winchester? Come here please,” the nurse asked him. Sam stepped forward and showed her his finger. “You’ll be good as new after this band aid.”

            Sam grimaced when she poured alcohol on his cut, but didn’t flinch.

“Are you new Mr. Winchester?” the nurse asked him. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Yes ma’am. My brother Dean and I just started,” Sam explained to her.

“I see. Be careful out there Sam. I’d ideally not like to see you back here,” the nurse said as she put a band-aid on Sam’s finger and winked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sa said nodding and heading back to class.

            “Mr. Lance, is something wrong?” the nurse asked the older boy sitting in a chair.

            “No. Not anymore,” Owen said leaving the nurse’s room. Sam _Winchester._ With a brother named _Dean._ Fine. If Dean was untouchable, so be it. His little runt brother _wasn’t._

            When the bell rang at 11:45 for lunch, Dean bolted from the room in search of Aly. He found her sitting under a tree with a scarf around her head.

            “Aly?” He asked softly. “Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” she said sounding on the verge of tears.

            Dean sat down next to her. “Why does that Owen jerk hate you so much?”

            Aly sighed. “He had my mom as a teacher two years ago. He didn’t do well in her class and had to repeat a grade. He couldn’t bother my mom, so I guess I became his favorite punching bag,” she told Dean with a hollow laugh.

            “I promise you, he won’t bother you anymore,” Dean announced sincerely.  

            Aly looked at him wide-eyed. “Please don’t get in trouble because of me. It’s fine, Dean. Don’t worry about it.”

            “Nah. That guy was a bully, anyway. Somebody had to get him to stop.”

            Aly smiled. “So where do you live?”

            “I live about 15 minutes from here. My brother Sam is in the kindergarten class. It’s his first day. The kid was so moody today,” Dean commented exasperated.

            “Well, little kids can get nervous easily… I have a Chihuahua that does that.”

            Dean blinked before laughing heartily. “Sam’s exactly like a Chihuahua.”

            Owen was planning his strategy well. The kindergarteners had playtime right after lunch ended for grades 3-6. He could ask to go the bathroom, and then he could corner the little brat. It’d be easy, like taking candy from…well, a kid.

            Lunch ended too fast for Dean’s liking. He and Ally were talking favorite foods. She was trying to convince Dean that pasta was the best food. Dean was adamant that you couldn’t get better than a bacon cheeseburger.

            Sitting in class he noticed that Owen had come back and avoided his gaze, but he hadn’t exactly seemed… upset. He looked like he was thinking. Which didn’t suit him; his face was scrunched and red. Dean thought he could literally hear gears trying to move in his brain.

            Owen asked to go to the bathroom suddenly, and Dean wondered if he’d made him sick earlier. Oh well. He deserved it.

            Dean’s mind went back to trying to desperately focus on the different layers of the earth’s crust, but all Dean could think about then was all the time’s his dad had dug into the earth’s crust to salt and burn something.

            “Mr. Winchester? Am I boring you?” Mrs. King’s grating voiced asked him.

            Dean snapped back to his class. “Huh? No! Of course not, ma’am.”

            Mrs. King sighed. Kids like Dean meant well, but they weren’t meant for sitting still too long. “Can you take this to the office and make 20 copies, Mr. Winchester?” she asked handing him a paper with useful information about the Earth’s layers.

            Dean gave a small smile. “Yes, ma’am.” He stood up and was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. As Dean made his way to the office, in the distance he saw the strangest thing. A tall boy was following a kindergartener to the bathroom. Dean squinted. The boy had caught up to the kindergartener and grabbed his shoulder. The tall boy looked suspiciously like… then he noticed the jaw going up and down with a piece of gum in it. _Owen._ Dean moved towards them and noticed the small boy had the same ridiculous bangs Sammy did… _Sammy._

            Dean dropped the paper he was supposed to be copying and began running towards his brother, as Owen slammed Sam into the wall.

            Owen had waited at a bench by the swing set. He was waiting for the right moment to ambush the puny Winchester. Sure enough, the kid left his friends and made his way over to the bathroom. Owen waited for the kid to go about 20 feet and followed him. He didn’t notice a figure by the office watching.

            The kid was alone by the bathroom. Finally. Owen sped up and grabbed his shoulder. Sam turned around alarmed. “Hey, Winchester. This is for your brother.”

            Owen grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt and slammed him hard into the wall outside the bathroom.

            “Ow! Stop,” Sam struggled against him.

            Owen heard a voice from behind him shout, “You son of a bitch! Get your hands off my brother!” Before getting the chance to turn around, he felt a fist make contact with his face, knocking him down.

            Dean punched Owen hard on the side of his face and sent him toppling to the ground. “Sammy are you okay?” Dean asked with concern.

            “Yeah. My head hurts a little. But I’m okay,” Sam told his brother rubbing his head.

            “Get outta here Sammy. Now!” Dean ordered turning away from his brother.

            Sam ran back to the swing set, not daring to stand around when Dean was so angry. He kept an eye on them though. The next thing he saw was Dean falling onto the pavement.

During the time Dean had turned to talk to his brother, Owen had kicked Dean’s feet out from under him. Both of them were on the floor now.

Owen rolled over and grabbed Dean’s shirt slamming him into the ground. Dean wheezed as he felt the air get knocked out of him. Owen moved and sat on top of Dean and pinned him down. “See I couldn’t get to you. SO I figured your brat brother would do,” Owen told Dean as he punched him in the jaw.

            Dean could feel his lip split and blood began to drivel own his mouth. “You stupid son of a bitch.” Dean spat. “You couldn’t get to me, so you pick on a 6 year old? Tough guy you are, fighting with kids.”

            “I don’t need him now that I’ve got you,” Owen sneered as he raised his hand to punch Dean’s nose.

            “Wrong,” Dean said anger flashing in his eyes. He lifted his leg and kneed Owen in the kidneys. Owen tumbled over. “You wanna pin someone down? You don’t leave their legs free.” Dean rolled over and hit Owen as hard as he could in the nose, and he could hear the boy gasping in pain.

Dean lifted Owen slightly and then slammed him into the ground and proceeded to stand up and stomp on his fingers. He heard the unmistakable _snap_ of one of Owen’s fingers breaking.

            “What the HELL is going on?” a man whom could only be the principal gruffly grabbed the collar of Dean’s shirt and yanked him ungracefully off of Owen. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” The man stared at Dean. “You, go grab the nurse and wait in my office.”

            Dean didn’t dare argue as he went and informed the nurse that she was needed. He waited in the Principal’s office but didn’t sit. Instead, Dean rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet wondering is this was a new record for trouble on the first day. The office was what a principal’s office would look like; a plate that read “Principal Andrews” sat on a desk, a bunch of books on education lined a shelf, and several diplomas aligned the walls. Dean sighed.

            15 minutes later the principal walked in and closed the door to his office. “Sit,” he told Dean sternly.

            Dean sank into the chair feeling trapped. He’d rather face Owen again than talk to this guy.

            “Fighting is not permitted under any circumstance, young man. I’m sure you’re very well aware of that.”

            “Yes, sir,” Dean mumbled and looked away.

            “Your brother did explain to me that Owen pushed him first and you only came to his defense, is that correct?” Principal Andrews asked staring intently at Dean.

            “Yes sir. He was gonna hurt my brother and I couldn’t just let him!” Dean told him, words pouring out his mouth. “I know it’s wrong, and that I’m in trouble, but none of it was Sam’s fault. He was just there.”

            Principal Andrews looked directly into Dean’s eyes. The kid really did seem to care about his brother. “No serious injury was sustained by Mr. Lance, other than a broken finger that the nurse has already placed in a splint. While he did start it, you did choose to fight back instead of telling someone.”

            “I know, sir,” Dean said quietly.

            “You’ll have 3 weeks detention, Mr. Winchester. Consider this a gift,” principal Andrews informed him. “I know you care about your brother, but please, if there is a problem, tell an adult. Do not take things into your own hands or the next time you will be forced to leave.”

            Dean nodded fervently. “Yes sir.”

            “Go back to class, now,” the older man said dismissing Dean with a wave of his hand.

            Dean didn’t want to push his luck and practically ran out of his office.

At 4:15 Dean left detention and walked slowly towards the Impala. He knew his dad would be angry for being late. Dean took a deep breath and opened the door.

“What the hell are you thinking?” his father shouted at him. “I get a call from your principal saying you’d beaten the crap out of some stupid kid and that I’m lucky you weren’t suspended. This is a new record, Dean!”

Dean looked at his feet. Sam piped up from the back, “But dad, Dean was helping me because this guy was gonna beat me up! It’s my fault!”

“Stop it, Sam. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry dad, but he was gonna hurt Sammy!” Dean spluttered. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Tell someone!” John roared. “I can’t have you never stopping to think about the consequences of your actions. Do you WANT them to investigate our records? The constant moving and different schools would be a bad sign to them, and then we’d have child services on our asses to investigate why we move all the time!”

“I—I didn’t know, dad. I’m sorry.” Dean mumbled.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You better learn from this, Dean. I can’t worry about cleaning up after you on top of everything else!” John said furiously pulling out of the school parking lot. “I’m not asking you not to get angry or to not help your brother. But you can’t do THIS. Dammit.”

“Yes sir,” Dean said quietly.

The Winchesters drove in silence until they reached their small apartment. John was angry that Dean could be so reckless, but at the same time he’d gotten into fights in school. Dean could fight all he wanted after hours, but in the middle of class? No. Besides, things were different then. John rubbed his eyes, as he tried to ignore the small bit of pride in his chest. Dean could hold his own, and he’d been there for his brother… and that was something to be proud of… but the boy was still reckless. Telling him he was happy he helped Sammy would encourage him, and John couldn’t have that. Dean would just have to deal with a little tough love.

            “Dean?” Sam asked from the bed opposite to his brother’s about an hour later.

            “What?” Dean responded in a monotonous voice.

            “Thanks…y’know. For helping me,” Sam told him.

            Dean rolled over. “Don’t worry about it. Look at all the good it did though.” Dean could practically feel his father’s disappointment radiating from the other room.

            “Some school day, huh Sammy?”

            “I liked it. We made things that represent part of us,” Sam began telling Dean.

            “Lame.”

            “Shut up. I made you this.” Sam pulled out a paper cutout of Dean and himself. “It’s not very good… but I think hanging around you is important, and a big part of me.” Sam handed the paper to his brother.

            “Gee…umm—thanks Sammy.” Dean held the badly cut paper figures and smiled. “I’ll forgive you for such a chick flick moment, just his once.”

            “You’re not too bad sometimes, Dean,” Sam declared.

            Dean laughed. “Yeah, well, you’re always a pain in the ass.” Dean didn’t regret helping Sam, despite the trouble it had landed him in. The kid was practically a puppy. He’d always be there, no matter what it took.

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”


	8. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Sorry for the long delay in posting. Final exams, work, and genreal holiday stress got to me and every time I considered writing I had to do something pointless (like sleep). Anyway, here's the next chapter just in time for the holidays.

**Chapter 8: Christmas**

 

            Sam Winchester was crouched behind the Impala, trying to quiet his rapid breathing. Any sudden movement and he’d be done for. The cold winter air bit at his cheeks and turned his nose a pale red. Sam realized he’d have to make a move or risk freezing to death in the South Dakota snow. He slowly allowed himself to get on all fours and crawl to the end of the Impala to peek out from behind it.

            _Good, nobody in sight._ Sam stood up quietly and turned his back from the car. A sudden movement caught Sam’s eye, but it was too late. “AUGHHH!”

            Sam hit the snowy ground hard, his back getting instant chills as he looked into the eyes of his older brother. “Seriously, Dean? Get offa me!”

            Dean Winchester cackled as a light danced in his bright green eyes. “Rookie move, little bro.  You didn’t check the roof of the car.”

            “I shouldn’t _have_ to check the roof of the car. If only my brother wasn’t a jerk.”

            “You’re just jealous I can kick your ass anytime I’d like. In fact,” Dean picked up a large snowball.

            Wriggling to get free, Sam’s eyes widened. “Dean. Don’t. Don’t even think about it.”

            “I’ll consider letting you go if you say I’m the most awesome brother who kicks ass.”

            “You’re an ass,” Sam stated innocently.

            “That’s it.” Dean grabbed the snowball and shoved it down Sam’s shirt.

            Sam thrashed around as the cold snow brought Goosebumps to his entire body “Ahh! Dean—get offa me!” Dean acquiesced and stood up with a wicked grin on his face.

            Sam hopped up and down trying to get all the snow out of his shirt. “I. Hate. You.”

            “Love you too, Sammy,” Dean yelled as he sauntered off towards the entrance of Bobby Singer’s house.

            “Jerk!” Sam called out as he grudgingly began to follow his brother.

            “Bitch.”

            Sam had to spend a solid 30 minutes sitting by the fire because he thought he had frozen solid. One day he’d get Dean back. One day when he wasn’t short and 7.

            “Hey midget,” Dean greeted plopping himself beside the fire and handing Sam a stick with a marshmallow on it.

            Sam gave a noncommittal grunt as he accepted the marshmallow and began to toast it.

            “Are you actually mad? C’mon, learn to take a joke Mr. Sunshine,” Dean teased. “You’re 7 going on 70.”

            “Yeah and you’re 11 going on 3,” Sam muttered turning the marshmallow slowly and meticulously.

            “Dude, you take way too long to toast a freaking marshmallow,” Dean told him as his marshmallow caught on fire. He twirled it around, clearly pleased at the fire that had engulfed the entirety of the sweet.

            “You’re kind of a pyromaniac you know?” Sam commented watching his brother play with the fire. “And that’s just gross, dude.”

            “Pretty big word, geek boy. And you don’t know what you’re missing,” Dean said biting into the charred marshmallow.

            “I read it in a book,” Sam said rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe you even know the word. It’s probably your entire vocabulary in one sentence.” Sam pulled his marshmallow away as it was toasted a perfect golden brown.

            “It wasn’t me who was frightened of the clown on Scooby Doo.”

            “I wasn’t scared!”

            “You so were.”

            “No, I was just uncomfortable,” Sam retorted.

            “Sure you were.” Dean tossed his half-eaten charred mess that was in the guise of a marshmallow at Sam.

 The marshmallow landed in Sam’s hair with a plop and Dean immediately stopped smiling. Sam gingerly touched his hair, only to find the left half of it coated in a gooey mess.

“Dude, I so didn’t mean to do that,” Dean stammered.

Sam had an incredulous expression on his face complete with wide eyes and slack-jawed mouth. Then before Dean could say anything else, Sam grabbed his own perfectly toasted creation and threw it directly at his brother’s face.

Dean gasped and Sam took that moment to grab the bag of marshmallows and jump behind the scratchy couch. Breathing heavily, he pulled out a handful of marshmallows and gave them a large lick so they’d be sticky and proceeded to pelt Dean with them. Several marshmallows missed their mark and stuck to the walls and ceiling, but a couple lucky shots managed to hit Dean.

“Aww, Dude! Gross!” Dean yelped using a pillow cushion as a shield.

“What the hell are you two idjits doin’ in here?” An older hunter walked through the doorway and stared suspiciously at the two Winchester boys. Sam immediately came out from behind the couch and stood by his brother.

“No—nothing,” Dean stammered.

Sam stared at Bobby and nudged Dean discreetly, as his face paled. Dean glanced at Sammy and followed his gaze. Stuck to the ceiling, directly above Bobby’s head, was a licked marshmallow that appeared to be clinging to the roof for dear life.

“That’s a load of bull. You two are up to something,” Bobby said in a mock stern voice.

“No, swear. We weren’t doin’ anythin’,” Dean said shuffling from one foot to the other trying to avoid looking at the roof. “In fact, Sammy here was complaining about the lack of Christmas cheer and he volunteered to help you decorate!”

Sam turned his head and glared at his brother. However, the marshmallow’s impending Swan Dive onto Bobby’s head took precedence over Dean being a jerk. “Um, yeah. Let’s go Bobby. I need to take a shower first, though because…I got something stuck in my hair.” Casting one last furtive glare at his brother, Sam dragged Bobby out of the room.

Bobby had barely turned the corner when the marshmallow fell on the floor. Dean grinned. They’d dodged a bullet with that one. He’d rather face a ghost than an irritated Bobby Singer. Sam would still be annoyed, but he’d live. It was his own damn fault for having his hair so long. It was like an invitation to get messed with.

Besides, he hadn’t exactly _lied._ Sam didn’t say it, but he wanted to decorate the house and secretly wished they had a tree and the dinner complete with a ham and a disgusting fruitcake. What Sam mostly wanted, though, was unity. Dean knew Sammy hated moving and he always talked about what the “kids in school” did for the holidays. Needless to say, an absent father and a McDonald’s happy meal didn’t usually constitute as a “normal” holiday.

Dean walked over to Bobby’s itchy couch and took a seat in front of the fire, the warmth spreading through his fingertips, eventually reaching his core. He allowed his eyes to close as he leaned back into a quilted blanket that covered the couch. To him, Christmas just wasn’t a huge deal. He liked it, sure…but it wasn’t something he actively thought about. Not like Sam, anyway. Sammy was still little. Sammy believed in Santa. Sammy didn’t really _know._ Dean gave a hollow chuckle. He was only 11, but he _knew._ He sometimes wished he could be like Sam and wish for a “normal” Christmas, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not since he was four. The last time he’d looked forward to Christmas was 7 yeas ago. Dean remembered going to bed on Christmas Eve with one wish in his mind: for Santa to bring him his mom. The next morning Dean had crept out of bed, making sure not to bother his 7-month-old brother. He tiptoed all over the room, but couldn’t see her anywhere. He looked out the windows, but all he saw was a blanket of white coating everything. Dean’s heart sunk; His mom wasn’t coming back, and Santa was either not real or a jerk. There was nothing magical about the holidays ever again.

“Hey! Dean!” a voice called out from the hallway.

Dean’s eyes snapped open as he emerged from his memories. It was best not to think about those things. If Sammy wanted normalcy, Dean would try and give it to him for as long as possible. “Yeah, coming.” The elder Winchester boy slid off the couch and trudged out of the living room into the kitchen. The kitchen was covered in pieces of green and red paper taped to a wall. Bobby looked over at Dean and gave him a small shrug.

Sam stood in front of the kitchen table obstructing Dean’s view from something. “Look, I understand if you don’t wanna... but I thought—I mean maybe it’ll be fun,” he explained in a rush.

“What, dude?” Dean craned his neck to look around his brother. “Wait, is that a—“

“Yeah…” Sam stepped aside to reveal a Gingerbread house making kit.

“You’re joking… A gingerbread house? Who am I? Friggin’ Martha Stewart?”

Sam stared at him; his hazel eyes seemed to be looking directly into Dean’s soul. “I thought maybe… maybe we could make it… y’know… While we wait for dad to come back.”

Dean swallowed. Sam was playing the guilt card, and he knew it… but he couldn’t resist the kid’s big shiny eyes. He looked like a freakin’ puppy. “Fine. BUT, if you tell anyone I did this I will kick your ass so hard, you’ll wish you were never born. Got it?”

Sam nodded fervently as he took a seat at the table and began tearing the stiff cardboard to get to the actual gingerbread house.

“I wouldn’t worry about telling anyone, Sam,” Bobby told him, “I’ll take pictures.”

            Dean turned to face him, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

            “I would,” Bobby chortled.

            “Why do you have a gingerbread house lying around anyway? Waiting for the friendly neighborhood kids to come play?”

            “I had a feeling some smart-ass and his nicer younger brother would turn up. I kept it around, just in case.” Bobby winked at Dean. “I’ll be in my room if you two need something. Try not to cut yourselves with the knife on the table.”

            “I wouldn’t!” Dean said indignantly, as Bobby left the room laughing at him. _Jerk._ A smile worked its way onto Dean’s lips, despite the impending blackmail. Bobby was like that crazy old uncle who always makes you laugh despite them driving you insane.

            Turning back to his little brother, Dean took a seat at the wooden table. “So, how do we do this Judy Blume thing?”

            Sam ignored one of Dean’s many references he didn’t get and looked at the package. “Well, here are the 6 pieces that make up the 4 walls and the 2 pieces that make up the roof. Here’s the packet of white powder that makes the glue and the snow; you have to add vinegar and an egg to get it to be sticky. Oh! And here are candy pieces you put on the house.”

            Dean reached for a candy piece and Sam slapped his hand away. “Stop it, Dean! You can’t eat them now. Besides, we need to make the frosting before we can do anything. You grab the eggs and I’ll get the vinegar.” With a resolve in his eyes, the youngest Winchester got up and began scavenging through Bobby’s many cabinets.

            Sighing, Dean got up and began searching in Bobby’s fridge for some eggs. Dean saw beer, bread, some lunchmeat, one apple, a container that said “do not eat under _any_ circumstances,” several strange mason jars, and some frozen TV dinners. Dean paused for a couple of minutes to inspect the mason jars. They could’ve been food that had gone bad… or they could’ve been something nasty like animal parts; at this point it was hard to tell what was what. Hiding behind the container was a lone egg. It was brown and had a funny smell to it; it was probably rancid. Dean figured they wouldn’t eat it, so it’d be safe to use. He turned to see Sam sitting at the table mixing the frosting, with an upset look in his eyes.

            Dean leaned over his brother and cracked the rotten egg into the mixture. “Why the long face, master chef?”

“Look at it!” Sam exclaimed exasperatedly throwing his hands into the air in a very theatrical manner.

“What? I don’t see anything,” Dean responded.

“Really look at it!” Sam shouted slightly neurotic as he shoved the bowl of frosting under Dean’s nose. “LOOK!”

“Wha—oh.” Instead of becoming a bright white, the frosting turned into a brown sludgy mess. “What the hell happened to it? It kinda looks like barf.”

Sam placed the bowl on the table forcefully. “I KNOW it looks like barf! I put in balsamic vinegar, and it turned the snow brown! I should’ve used a different type and now I ruined it!”

Dean stared at his brother. It wasn’t like Sam to have a temper tantrum about something so silly. “Sammy, it’s okay. We’ll use it anyway, it’ll be fine.”

“No, Dean!” Sam cried stepping away from the table. “This was supposed to be a nice, normal Christmas. Like the ones kids at school have. We’re _supposed_ to have nice decorations and a tree! We’re _supposed_ to have a cheesy gingerbread house ‘cause that’s what you do! We’re _supposed_ to have dad around to help us, but he’s workin’ or something. All I have is this stupid house and I ruined it.” Sam looked close to tears, but Dean couldn’t tell if they were because he was sad or frustrated or a combination of both.

“Hey,” Dean said kneeling to look his brother in the eyes, “Dad will come. He always does. Tomorrow we’ll wake up and he’ll be here to watch TV with us and watch us open presents from Santa. Trust me, Sammy.”

“How do you know? Kids at school—“

Dean cut him off. “Kids at school are full of crap. I can guarantee each of those kids is suffering in their own peppermint-scented hell. Relatives will be pouring in from all over to pinch their cheek and ask uncomfortable questions. Drunken fights will break out, people will end up crying, and in the end those kids will wish it were a quiet Christmas. Dad _will_ come. And I’ll always be here to watch my pain-in-the-ass little brother.”

Sam gazed hopefully into Dean’s eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise. Now what do ya say we finish this gingerbread house and pretend I never did this?”

Sam nodded and settled himself down in a rickety kitchen chair as he instructed Dean on how to help him glue together the four walls of the house.

Bobby emerged from his room 4 hours later, due to the noise (or lack thereof) coming from the kitchen. On top of the wooden table was a badly constructed gingerbread house. It was easy to tell which half was Sam’s and which half was Dean’s. Dean’s half looked rush, but creative, with all the little candy pieces forming a zeppelin. Sam’s half was neat and meticulous and looked exactly like the cover of the box. The kitchen was a total mess, however; the wooden table was coated in frosting, candy pieces were all over the floor, and something that smelled suspiciously like vinegar was in a puddle by the sink. Bobby walked into the living room to yell at the two idjits to clean up their mess, when he found them fast asleep in front of the fireplace, with the fire almost completely out by this point. Dean was on his stomach facing down and Sam’s leg was on top of Dean as he formed a star shape with his body. Bobby smiled as pulled out a disposable camera and snapped a photo. That’d be one for the memory books.

A ringing pierced through the silence as Bobby quickly made his way to the phone. “Yes?”

“Bobby? It’s John,” came the voice from the other end of the receiver.

“John? Are you on your way back yet?” Bobby asked him, dreading the answer.

“I am…” John’s voice sounded distant. “But I’m two states over. I’ll make it, but I won’t have time to get gifts for the boys or anything. This shape shifter thing took longer than I thought it would.”

Bobby scowled, despite the fact that John couldn’t see him. “You idjit. Your boys are waitin’ for ya. Just shag ass and get here by morning.”

“I will, I will. Guy just saves lives and he can’t catch a break.”

Bobby snorted. “Don’t start you self-righteous prick. I’ll see you in the morning.” The line went dead, and Bobby rubbed his eyes. He was going to have to endure the worst kind of torture: last minute shopping on Christmas Eve.

Dean awoke to the sound of the Impala’s engine humming as it pushed its way through the South Dakota Snow. Dean noticed Sam was partially lying on top of him, and he gently scooted his brother off of him.

“Hey, Sammy,” he whispered.

Sam stayed asleep.

“Sammy,” he poked.

Sam remained asleep, but he twitched slightly.

Deciding it was time to resort to more successful methods, Dean leaned down close to his brother’s face and blew hard in his ear.

Sam sat bolt right up cringing. “Dean! You’re such a jerk!”

“Why would he be a jerk, this time?” a deep voice came from behind Sam.

“Dad!” Sam stood up quickly, debating on whether or not to hug him, but deciding against it at the last minute.  “You’re here.”

“Told you Dad would come,” Dean said smiling at his brother.

“Hey Brady Bunch, there’s something you might wanna see in the kitchen,” Bobby called from the other room.

Sam and Dean dashed out of the room to find the kitchen floor with 4 packages, two for dean, two for Sam.

Sam patiently unfolded each corner of the wrapping paper, whilst Dean ripped the paper to pieces.

“Dude, you’re so OCD,” Dean commented. “No way, a new baseball glove and box-set of all the _Star Wars_ movies on tape!” Dean looked up at his dad with a huge smile on his grin. Dean didn’t believe in Santa; the presents obviously came from his dad. He’d really knocked it out of the park this time; the gifts were exactly what Dean liked.

“Look! Santa came!” Sam said excitedly, ignoring his brother’s jab. “A collection of _Great Illustrated Classics: Grimm Fairy Tales, Dracula, & 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_! I also got a soccer ball… although I don’t know how to play.”

“Can you be any more of a geek?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ll teach you how to play with the soccer ball. Probably the only somewhat cool thing you’ll ever do. C’mon, let’s go see if the snow’s melted a bit.” Dean made his way outside with Sam trailing behind him with the new soccer ball.

Once both boys were outside John turned to Bobby. “Thank you. For everything. The boys don’t know it was you, but I do. I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“You don’t need to pay me back,” said Bobby with an offended tone in his voice.

“Of course I do. I don’t like to be in anybody’s debt.”

“You idjit. I didn’t do it as a chore,” Bobby snorted in annoyance, “I did it because I care about those two wild animals you call kids. Now take the damn gift, or I’ll have to beat some sense into you.”

John opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. “I—thank you.” He smiled faintly as he watched his two boys. After all this time, John Winchester was more stubborn than ever, but for once he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d just take the time to have one relatively _normal_ Christmas. 


	9. Chapter 9: Birthdays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling in the gaps for the Winchester's younger years is proving to be harder than I previously thought, so hopefully this is okay. Enjoy some fluff! Oh and I realize I haven't been putting in disclaimers, but if I owned them it wouldn't be fanfiction. Anyway, as always read/review!

**Chapter 9: Birthdays**

A sleek black muscle car cruised down the deserted Nebraska highway at 6 am on a Saturday. The first morning light was just beginning to touch down on the flat land, but the Winchesters had been awake for several hours already. John was at the wheel, staring straight ahead whereas Dean was slouched in the passenger seat with his feet on the dashboard, without any concerns. Sam, on the other hand, sat in the back of the Impala with his head against the window watching the never-ending road. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of leather from the upholstery and let out an involuntary sigh.

“Is there something wrong Sam?” his dad asked him with a glance through the side-mirror.

“No, nothing,” Sam said quietly. Of course his dad hadn’t remembered. It was May 2nd, 1991.His 8th _birthday._ No one had as much as wished him a happy birthday. It was one thing for his dad to forget, but Dean? Sam bit his lip to keep from sighing again. To top it off the only present he’d gotten was a rough shove from his father around 3 am telling him that they had to go. All that awaited him was another whole new town in some ugly motel room.

Part of Sam wanted to be a brat and make a fuss about the fact that nobody had said happy birthday to him and that they were moving, but another part of him was just too tired to put in the effort. It wouldn’t have stopped them from leaving the last town they were at, in any case. “So where are we going, anyway?” Sam finally asked reluctantly.

“Missouri.” John’s one-word answers were getting on Sam’s nerves. He treated Sam as if he were stupid, or totally ignorant.

“Where in Missouri?” Sam questioned once again. “Is it Jefferson City? That’s the capital, you know.”

“How the hell would you know that?” This time the voice came from his brother, who turned around and reared his head from behind the passenger seat.

“We learned all the states and capitals in school three months ago,” Sam told him matter-of-factly.

“I’d rather poke my eyes out with a spork,” Dean said grinning. “Although, I guess for a geek-boy, it’d probably be like heaven.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said rolling his eyes and trying to turn away from his brother (which was proving difficult to do in the Impala’s cramped conditions). “Sporks are stupid anyway, why would you use that in your argument?”

“Dude, they’re a spoon _and_ a fork. How freakin’ sweet is that? You can eat soup and then eat a piece of pie without having to get a different utensil.”

Sam spared his brother a glare before looking away again and giving him the silent treatment. _Stupid Dean thinks he’s so funny. I never forgot his birthday. January 24._

Dean waited for Sam to make some smart-ass answer, but it never came. Turning back to face the road ahead Dean mumbled, “don’t be such a bitch.”

“Watch your language,” John said eyeing his eldest sternly.

“Yes sir.” Dean had somehow momentarily forgotten their dad was in the car with them. Silence fell over the car and began to make Dean uncomfortable. “So…where are we going in Missouri?”

“Kansas City,” his dad responded in the same clipped manner.

“Why?” Sam asked from behind both Dean and John.

“Work.”

Sam frowned to himself and was gripping the backseat so tightly he could feel his hands beginning to sweat.  His dad really did think he was stupid. “What kind of work?”

“I’m selling some things. Stop being so damn nosy.” John turned on the radio and let the music fill the car.

_I’m on the way to the promised land_

_I’m on a highway to hell_

_Highway to hell_

_‘No kidding,’_ Sam closed his eyes and willed the road to lull him to sleep.

* * *

 

 After 45 minutes of singing along to the radio in the car, Dean lowered the volume and turned around to see if Sam was still pouting. Instead, he found that the geek-boy was fast asleep. Only Sam could fall asleep through classic rock. Dean ran a hand through his light brown hair as he slumped back into the leather seat. Sam was pretty peeved. He probably thought he’d _actually_ forgotten that it was his 8th birthday.

Dean internally scoffed at the thought. Please, he knew everything about the little geek down to the fact that he liked to fog up the mirror in the bathroom and write secret messages on it and watch them fade away. (Dean discovered this one-day after coming out of the shower and reading ‘Dean sucks at singing’ in the mirror. He made sure to sing extra loud that day.) It was almost offensive Sammy actually thought he’d forgotten.

“Hey, Dad?” Dean questioned looking up at his father.

“Mmm?” John’s eyes were still looking straight ahead. They were only about 45 minutes from their destination, and it was only 10 am.

“We’re still gonna do what we talked about, right?”

“How do you even know he wants to do that?”

“Trust me, dad. I know he’d love it. So, we’re still gonna go right?” The anticipation was written all over Dean’s face.

“About that…”

“Dad!” Dean whispered indignantly, “It’s his _birthday.”_

“I know, Dean. It was your idea to pretend to forget in the first place.”

“Yeah, because I _thought_ we were going to surprise him!” Dean was beginning to get annoyed with his dad.

“I know, but—“

Dean cut John off, “Dad, you promised. You can’t just flake on someone like that!”

John turned to look at his eldest. “Watch your tone.”

“Yes sir,” Dean muttered feeling slightly defeated.

“You never let me finish. I’ll drop you and Sammy off, I need to go research something.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t exactly know what it is,” John glanced through the side mirror to make sure his youngest was still asleep. “Something’s been targeting people at an old folks home and killing them. They’re saying suicide, but I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s a ghost since there have been no reports of cold spots, flickering lights, or any of the other usual signs. I’ve got to dig a little deeper and see what it is. I plan on heading out sometime tomorrow night to try and stop it.”

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Dean asked with a forced air of nonchalance in his voice.

John sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Probably a few days. A week tops.”

“Fine.” The younger Winchester didn’t see the need in arguing or really even worrying. His dad was like, _the best._

“I’ll pick you and Sammy up at 6 and we can grab something to eat afterwards.”

“Sounds good.”

“Dean… I would’ve wanted to go with you both… but this is—” John tried to explain.

“I get it, Dad. This is more important. I’ll make sure Sammy has fun.” Dean said in earnest. He flashed a signature Winchester smiled at his dad.

John gave him a small smile as he turned into a rundown motel. Dean really was incredibly mature, deep _deep_ down beneath all of his playful antics. Oftentimes, John felt like he shirked his responsibilities as a parent. A normal parent would throw his kid a party, not have his other son who was still a kid himself act in loco parentis. The worst part was that Dean did it so eagerly, not even realizing that it wasn’t what a normal older brother would do. John grimaced and pushed the thought away from his mind. Any shred of normalcy had been lost on that night, and sacrifices had to be made. John was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Dean begin to wake Sammy.

“Wake up, princess,” Dean said poking Sam in the cheek.

“Cut it out, Dean,” Sam mumbled groggily as he swatted away his brother’s hand.

“We’re here, sunshine. Get out of the car and unload your stuff,” Dean told him already climbing out of the car and stretching his legs.

Sam stumbled sleepily out of the car and grabbed the small duffle bag that was his as he dragged it to their motel room that John was unlocking. Sam dumped his duffel bag onto the bed he claimed as his and sat there with his arms crossed silently angry with both his father and brother.

When the Winchesters were done unpacking, John left the room and presumably got in the Impala. “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean told him.

“It’s Sam,” Sam said acidly pushing his way past his brother and silently getting in the car again. “Where are we going, dad?”

“Library,” he responded curtly

 _‘Well it could be worse,’_ Sam thought to himself as Dean climbed into the shotgun seat.

As the Impala pulled out Sam closed his eyes in defiance. His whole family was full of jerks.

* * *

 

20 minutes later the Impala stopped moving and Sam deemed it reasonable to open his eyes to see where they were, even if it was for only a moment.

Expecting a library, Sam opened only one eye to peek. What he saw, however, was something totally different.

The Impala was parked in front of a Coliseum inspired building that read KANSAS CITYMUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY AND SCIENCE. Sam’s eyes went wide as saucers. He’d only been to a museum once on a school field trip, but he’d loved it; Especially all the exhibits with dinosaur bones and animals.

Sam looked back and forth from his Dad to his brother as if daring them to pull the car out and say “Sike!”

“Happy birthday, Sammy!” Dean’s green eyes were alight with joy to see Sammy’s stunned expression.

“Happy 8th, kiddo,” John said smiling. “Now both of you need to get off. I’ll be back at 6 pm sharp, ok?”

“Sure, dad. C’mon geek boy!” Dean clambered out of the car and yanked open Sam’s door and practically pulled him out. The boys made their way to the entrance and watched as the rear end of the Impala turned a corner.

“You remembered?” Sam asked looking up at Dean.

“Of course I did you little nerd. How could you actually think I’d forget your birthday? I’d be a horrible brother.” Dean smirked. “And we all know, I’m the best.”

“I just thought maybe you and dad were busy or something,” Sam mumbled at his feet. It had been silly of him to be so angry. Of course Dean hadn’t forgotten him. “You told Dad I liked museums, didn’t you?”

“’Course not,” Dean said pulling a don’t-be-an-idiot face. “Dad knew you loved ‘em.” It was a lie, his dad honestly had no clue, and Dean didn’t honestly know if his dad would’ve remembered Sam’s birthday if it weren’t because he’d reminded him the week before. Dean didn’t tell Sam this though; his dad was busy with really important stuff, it wasn’t his fault.

“Sure,” Sam said clearly not believing anything Dean said. His dad was just never around like Dean was.

Before Dean could protest Sam leaned in and hugged him. Dean held his arms in outward surprise for a moment and then brought them down and patted Sam awkwardly.

Sam broke away slightly embarrassed. “Let’s go inside.”

“Sure. C’mon geek boy wonder,” Dean walked into the museum with Sam behind him, excusing the chick-flick moment for just this once.


	10. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finally got to the point in the story where Sam knows about hunting, so things should pick up from here. A couple of disclaimers here: 1) I've never shot a gun, so I have no idea how it actually feels, I'm just basing this off of the wise scholar, google. 2) I tried to include all 3 Winchesters, but it came off as a bit more Sam-centric, so next chapter I'll try and get more of the others in, too. 3) I obviously don't own any of the characters because if I did I wouldn't worry about student loans. Anyway, as always read/review/enjoy!

**Chapter 10: Training**

A pair of dirty white sneakers hit the forest floor with a resounding crunch. Frantic feet raced as fast as they could, not daring to stop. Sweat dripped down the boy’s face, his bangs plastered to his forehead. The whole of his body was aching and his lungs felt as if they were on fire; no matter what he did he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his system. A wave of nausea passed over the boy and he finally succumbed to the desire to sink into the earth.

“Whoa there, Sammy. You better not puke, that’s just gross.” Dean said kneeling next to his younger brother.

Sam spared Dean a side-glance. His brother had been running alongside him the entire time. How long had they been running? 30? 35 minutes? Sam felt like he was dying, his only desire to sit in a hot bath. His face was caked with a mixture of dirt and sweat, and his feet were so swollen he was surprised he had even lasted this long. Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was _enjoying_ himself; every drop of sweat looked like it brought Dean closer to victory. He had a huge grin on his face, as if running like a madman was the most natural thing in the world. He was probably one of those kids who got really into gym class. What Sam really wanted to do was finish reading his library copy of _Grimm’s Fairy Tales._ They were much more gruesome than regular Disney fairytales and Sam wanted to see how much they’d watered down the movies.

“Earth to Sammy?” Dean said snapping his fingers in from of Sam’s nose.

Sam blinked, “huh? What?”

“Let’s go, we should get back…Dad’ll want us to do some other stuff.”

“Yeah, sure. But, I’m taking it slower, okay?”

Dean bit his lip. “I dunno Sam, dad wanted us back by a certain time.”

“We’ll make it,” Sam assured him with a pleading note in his voice.

Dean sighed and kicked a pebble on the floor. “Fine, c’mon.”

Sam followed his brother at a slower pace. This—this was hell. Waking up at 5 am every weekend to go training was probably a CIA torture tactic. Ever since his Dad found out he _knew_ about his real job, he’d started making him train alongside Dean.

Sam winced to himself as he followed Dean through the forest trying not to pant. The day his dad realized Sam knew, that would be a day to remember. It was sometime after his 9th birthday, probably June. The Winchesters had been staying in some small town in North Carolina. It wasn’t big or cosmopolitan, but Sam had really liked it. It had beautiful sights and a calming atmosphere. He’d gone to school for a month there and he had a friend who lived down the road from the small apartment they had been staying in. There was a lake nearby, and when the humidity threatened to consume them, Dean would take him swimming. Of course, then there were mosquitos to contend with, but Dean seemed to remedy that too; after a few hours at the lake Dean would take him to Baskin Robbins and buy him a single scoop of vanilla ice cream (Dean always told him he was a pansy for getting something as simple as _vanilla_ ). It was blissful; time seemed to pass more slowly.  In short, it was _normal._

Of course his dad had to ruin that.

* * *

 

One night, John Winchester had stumbled through the door and declared they were leaving the next morning, just like that. They were going across the country to Oregon, apparently he had “business” there. Dean had nodded with the usual round of “yes, sir” and “how can I help, sir?”

“Pack the bags and make sure that the salt is laid down,” John had ordered Dean.  “Sammy, you gather your stuff and make sure not to forget anything.”

“It’s Sam,” he had told him quietly.

“Sure, whatever. Just pack the stuff,” John ordered again, losing patience.

“No,” Sam responded looking at the floor. He felt the bag of salt Dean was holding drop next to his foot. The look on his face was probably one of shock, to say the least. It was the first time anybody had really disobeyed a direct order. It just didn’t happen.

John looked up from the duffel bag he was packing. In an eerily calm voice he asked, “what did you say?”

“I—“ Sam was beginning to get nervous. “I said no.”

“John walked over to Sam and leaned in closely. “You listen to me, boy, and you listen closely: when I tell you to do something you do it. No questions asked. I don’t need you to throw a bratty temper tantrum. You’re 9, not 3.”

Sam looked up with a steely determination in his eyes. “No. I like it here. It’s nice and normal. You never tell us anything and I don’t think it’s really fair to just listen if you don’t give us a reason.”

His father’s hand was balled into a fist; he was clearly trying to control his anger. “I’ve told you what you need to know.”

“Really, dad? When? When you disappear for weeks at a time? For all I know you could be dead and we wouldn’t know!” Sam’s voice was near shouting levels. No effort was made to try and calm down. “Sure, let’s just move again. Let’s not tell Sam anything because we think he’s blind and an idiot. Like I can’t see the salt line you lay—“

Dean’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Sammy, stop.”

But Sam continued. Once he had started, he wasn’t going to stop, and months of anger and confusion poured out of him. “—or the fact that we move every month, or those stupid fake last names you use. Nobody else besides us moves that much or does those things! But no, obviously it’s totally normal.”

“Sammy, stoppit!” Dean shouted, but it was drowned out by the sound of their father’s fist connecting with the wall next to Sam. John pulled his fist from out of the drywall, his knuckles bloody and bruised. His nostrils were flared as he refused to look Sam in the eye.

Finally, Sam stopped talking and his mouth opened a little. His dad had been angry before, but not like this. There was complete silence other than John’s heavy breathing. The silence was more unnerving than anything else.

“How long?” John asked when he finally spoke.

“6 months,” Sam said in a whisper.

“How—how did you even…” John’s voice trailed off as he closed his eyes. “How did you know? Did Dean tell you? Did you tell him, Dean?”

Dean opened his mouth to explain, but Sam cut him off before he got started. “It was late one night, Dean was asleep,” he lied. “You were gone, and I saw… I saw your journal… and I… read it.”

The tension in the room was palpable as John’s eyes snapped open. “You what?”

“I was bored—and—and, well, you weren’t around and I thought I’d maybe figure out why you were gone so often.” The brave edge in Sam’s voice had completely vanished.

John grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt. “You fucking read the journal? You know not to do things like that. You’re so desperate to be an adult, well you should realize that most adults would be too scared to read _my_ private journal.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d just told me,” Sam muttered back his hazel eyes locked on John’s. Their noses were inches apart and Sam could feel his dad’s hot breath on his face

“Hey, hey, stop! That’s enough!” Dean said standing between the two of them. They could both be so incredibly stubborn. “What’s done is done. It’s over, and there’s no going back.”

John glared at Sam for a few more seconds and finally let go of his shirt. “You’re damn right there’s no going back. I want this room packed by the time I get back. We’re leaving, and that’s final.” A dangerous look on John’s face stifled the protest Sam was going to make. Satisfied at his youngest son’s silence, John turned on his heel and strode out the door, slamming it behind him.

Sam just sat numbly on the bed while Dean silently began to pack up their stuff. Dean glanced at Sam briefly, betrayal apparent in his eyes, almost as if he were saying, “how could you get dad so pissed?”

John stumbled into the small apartment at 3:30 in the morning later that night, and Sam closed his eyes as he pretended to sleep. He was certain his dad had spent the night with his friend, Jack Daniel’s. Sure enough, his dad struggled to get his coat off and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. John shuffled to the edge of his bed and allowed himself to fall into it, and within minutes a soft snoring could be heard. Sam sat alone in the darkness, wondering if anything would ever be the same again.

Two weeks passed and John barely acknowledged Sam’s presence, and when he did speak to Sam it was often in curt monosyllabic phrases. At first it stung a bit when his dad would talk to Dean, and wouldn’t spare him a glance. However, after a while the apathy just set in, and Sam didn’t notice anymore. It came as quite a shock when his dad woke him up at 7 am one morning.

“Sam, get up,” came a voice from above.

“hmm? Wha—why? It’s early,” Sam mumbled groggily shrinking further into his bed.

‘Well, since you took it upon yourself to find out what’s really out there, you’re going to need to know how to defend yourself,” John told him without an ounce of sympathy.

“Training? Training for what?” Sam asked.

“Hunting,” John said ripping the bedcovers off of Sam.

“And how do you train for that?” Sam wondered with a sincere note of curiosity.

“You’ll see,” John left Sam to get dressed.

As it turned out there was more to hunting than just a bag of salt and a gun. There was speed, strength, agility, shooting various types of guns, archery, and god knows what else. As it turned out, Dean was great at all of it, Sam, not so much. The first few times his dad had asked him to train he was eager to learn and was secretly pleased his dad trusted him enough, but after a few months the excitement wore off. Sam wasn’t very good at any of the training; he could do it, but he, was mediocre at best. Dean said he was getting better and needed practice. His dad said nothing, but his lips were pulled into a perpetual frown. His dad began talking to him again, but it wasn’t the same caring way he used to when he didn’t _know._ It was as if his dad just stopped looking at him as a kid, and decided he could be useful, like a part of an army. Sam silently hoped it would go back to the way it was, eventually.

 

* * *

 

There they were, running through the woods 6 months later, and nothing had changed. Nothing would be the same, how could it be? He was now a part of a three-man army against something so large it hurt Sam to wrap his mind around it.

Sam realized they had reached the clearing of the forest where his dad was rummaging through the back of the Impala. “Whaddya think he’s getting?” Sam asked Dean.

“Dunno. Maybe knife throwing?” Dean couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.

“Great. Awesome.”

“Don’t be such a downer, you little geek. Your fairytales will be waiting for you when we get back. I hear they’re showing _Barne y & Friends _on PBS at 10, you can catch that too if you’d like,” Dean grinned.

“Shut up, jerk. You’re one of those jocks who takes gym too seriously in school and everybody hates them for it,” Sam retorted rolling his eyes.

“At least I’m not a midget.”

“At least I can do math that’s higher than a third grade level.”

“Hey, it’s a fourth grade level,” Dean said with a wink. “Hey, do you need any help or somethin’ dad?”

“No, just take this,” John told Dean handing him a sawed-off shotgun. John closed the Impala’s trunk with a slam. “We’re doing target practice today. There are three targets out there,” John pointed to three tall trees with small orange post-its stuck on them. “You just have to hit the post-its. If you do decently, I’ll call it a day, how does that sound?”

“That’s awesome, dad!” Dean eagerly began to load the gun.

“Wait, Dean. Not you. Let Sam do it,” John said eyeing his youngest.

“But, Dad..” Dean began.

“No, let him do it. He’s been working for months on this, it took you weeks, and it’s taken him months, he needs to be able to shoot a gun straight,” John insisted.

Dean reluctantly handed the gun over to his little brother and shot him a “sorry I tried” look.

Sam grimaced and gingerly took the gun.

“Load the gun,” John instructed. Sam followed orders and loaded the gun. The technical aspects were easy to grasp. In theory, it was all easy. He knew what the best strategies were, but it was one thing to read about them in a book and another to actually carry those theories out.

“Now what?” Sam asked even though he knew the answer.

“Now hit your target,” John told him.

Sam stood and carefully aimed the gun and inhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing. He let out a slow breath and aimed for the tree on the left-hand side. The blast from the gun reverberated throughout the forest and Sam felt himself get physically pushed back a bit on the recoil; not as bad as when he first started, but enough that he stumbled back a step. He blinked a few times and crammed his head to see if the bullet hit its mark. Sam bit his lip; the bullet was roughly 5 inches above the target. It wasn’t much, and most kids his height and weight would have probably done worse, but it wasn’t good enough, and he knew it.

Sam waited for his dad to admonish him, but the only thing his dad said was, “reload, and move on to the next one.” Sam could feel the disappointment. As he reloaded the gun he looked at Dean for help, but Dean had suddenly become very interested in his fingernails.

He was on his own, so Sam began to reload. He’d get it, he would. He took another breath and aimed for the tree on the right. He exhaled and pulled the trigger, bracing himself for the recoil of the sawed-off. He took one step back, but didn’t stumble. He was only an inch off the mark, it was a vast improvement, but it made his blood run cold. There was no “close enough” in the Winchester family; things were all-or-nothing, with no in between. Sam shuffled his feet knowing his dad would further humiliate him by making him shoot the third target.

“That was good, Sammy,” Dean said clearly trying to make him feel better. “It was a big improvement, it was really close to the target and you didn’t stumble—“

John cut him off. “It’s not good enough. Being close enough to the target won’t be enough when you’re hunting something that wants to rip your head off. Close enough is what’s going to get you killed. Your head’s not in the game, Sam.”

“He’s doin’ better, though, dad. He’ll keep getting better,” Dean insisted trying to placate both his father and brother.

“Stop babying him, Dean. He wanted to be treated like an adult, and now he’s getting it. It’s not enough to try and shoot straight, you have to actually be able to do it.”

Both Winchesters were treating Sam as if he wasn’t even there. “I can do it,” he announced loudly as he reloaded the gun and turned to the middle target. The world seemed to fade from around him; Dean and his father’s voices faded, the forest seemed to sink into the shadows and the only thing in Sam’s field of vision was the target. He ignored the bead of sweat that ran down his face and the fact that his palms were moist. He inhaled as he took aim, and then upon exhaling, pulled the trigger. The recoil of the gun only made Sam wince, as he watched the bullet hit its mark.

“Sammy! You did it!” Dean said walking over and clapping him on the back. “Not so bad for a nerd!”

Sam gave a small half-smile, and looked up expectantly at his dad.  John stared at him for a moment and then said, “You hit the target after three tries. Your brother would have hit it in one.”

Sam’s smile faded. “I’m not Dean,” he said masking the hurt that was threatening to creep into his voice.

“Yeah. I know,” John said walking back to the motel that was up the road of the Washington forest.

Sam stood dumbstruck. He didn’t understand. This was supposed to make his dad happy. He didn’t even _like_ training. His dad would always favor Dean. Dean who was perfect and fast and strong. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes so Sam bean walking back to the motel.

“Hey, Sammy, you did great,” Dean said placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sam shrugged it off. It wasn’t Dean’s fault, but he wanted to be left alone.

Dean pulled his hand back as if it stung. “I’m starving. Maybe there will be some kind of brunch thing going on at the local diner. I could go for some bacon and pancakes.”

Sam kept walking in silence, and eventually Dean stopped trying to talk to him. Once they reached the motel Sam took the longest shower he’d ever taken. He let the hot water burn his skin and fog up the bathroom. Finally alone in his vapor filled wonderland, he let himself cry.

* * *

 

Later that night Sam was huddled in a ball on the couch with Dean who was spread across the entire couch, watching _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ for what seemed to be the 100th time. John had gone into town for some supplies and food.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam said finally.

“Mmm?” Dean muttered clearly engrossed in the movie. No matter how many times he saw it, he never got bored. He secretly wished he could be Indiana Jones. 

“Do you think we could go shooting again?”

“Sure, dad can probably take us tomorrow,” Dean told him interested in Sammy’s sudden desire to go shooting.

“No, no. I mean, can you take me _alone_?” Sam asked emphasizing ‘alone.’

“You know we’re not supposed to leave while dad’s out…” Dean said hesitantly. In the 13 years of his life, if there was anything he knew, it was to follow orders because they were probably there for a good reason. He’d learned his lesson when the Shtriga incident occurred.

“Dean, please,” Sam pleaded.

“Sam…” Dean stared at his brother. Sam’s face looked disheartened, and the puppy eyes were full force. “Fine. When should we go?”

“Now, “ said Sam hopping off the couch and pulling his jacket on.

‘Now? Whoa, slow down there, geek boy wonder. Now? It’s barely light out, and we just practiced a couple hours ago. Are you ok?” Dean asked concerned.

“Yes, now, Dean! I’m fine, c’mon!” Sam said as he laced his sneakers.

“Fine, fine,” Dean stood up and stretched, his shoes already on his feet. “C’mon, Sammy.”

Both Winchesters walked towards the clearing in the forest by the motel and Dean brought along the sawed-off  his dad always left in the room in case of an emergency. “Here,” Dean handed Sam the sawed-off. “Same as earlier today, you got this.”

Sam stood to the left and aimed for the target. He braced himself for the recoil, and pulled the trigger. He hit the very tip of the target and immediately began reloading the gun. He aimed for the right-hand target and fired off the shot. It hit the upper right quadrant of the target.

Sam reloaded and aimed one final time. He didn’t hear Dean’s frantic voice telling him, “shit, it’s dad. He spotted us,” Sam exhaled and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the center of the target.

“Dean, I did it!” Sam said gleefully turning to his brother. The smile evaporated from his face when he saw his dad standing there with his arms folded.

‘What the hell are you two doing?” John demanded.

“Well, we were just…practicing,” Dean finished lamely.

“Dean, I told you to stay inside,” John said angrily. “You’re going to end up getting you and your brother killed if you don’t listen to orders. Is that what you want?”

“N—no, sir,” Dean said guiltily “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” said John calming down. “Just go back inside boys.”

Both of the younger Winchesters practically ran back to the motel when John called out, “and nice shot, Sammy. It better happen more often.”

Sam smiled to himself. That was practically a damn hug and kiss coming from his dad.

“Dude,” Dean let out a low whistle. “We just dodged a bullet with that.”

“Yeah no kidding,” Sam said.

“Nice shot, dweeb.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

* * *

 

John watched the figures of his two boys disappeared into the sunset. Sam had hit the target right in the center. He’d done really well. Sure, he wasn’t as quick on the jump as Dean, but Sam had all the bookish characteristics that Dean didn’t. Both of them had special skills, John just didn’t know how to tell them this. Dean didn’t seem to need the constant validation. Dean followed orders (for the most part), and gave 110% all the time. It was harder with Sammy. He tried, but just enough…and he sure as hell couldn’t even think of talking to him. Ever since Sam read the journal things had been _different._ Sam was more resistant, and had begun to vocalize his displeasure. John knew any normal parent would sit and try and talk to their child about it, but then again, these weren’t normal circumstances. He was way in over his head.

Sammy was stubborn as hell, and once an idea was planted in his mind it would never leave. He should’ve told Sammy he’d done a good job earlier… but where would that get him. John’s blood ran cold at the thought of Sammy fighting for his life one day and missing a monster with a shot that was “close” and suffering the consequences. No, tough love was how it would have to be. They had to go after the thing that destroyed their life. The whispers were that it was a _demon._ John didn’t even know if he believed it, really John didn’t _want_ to believe it. Especially since there were rumors that this demon was trying to get at children—get at Sammy. John didn’t know why, but he intended to find out. Sammy had to be ready, no matter what. If it meant getting his feelings hurt in order to save his life, then so be it.

John sighed, and slowly followed his boys back to their motel and allowed the darkness to consume him. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much all fluff, so it wasn't too taxing to write. Anyway, here's the next installment!

**Chapter 11: Pranks**

It had started off as an innocent idea, really. Dean had no idea it would get so out of hand, or that Sammy could even _yell_ that loudly. He’d thought it’d be funny after he’d seen one outside the toy store; it even sang that creepy song from Disneyland. Sam had always wanted to go to Disneyland, so he was really helping him out. He’d waited for the longest time until Sammy had finally fallen asleep and then he positioned it next to Sam’s bedside and wound the knob in the back of it. Dean stepped back and let the toy begin its singing.

“ _It’s a world laughter, a world of tears…”_

Sam grumbled in his sleep. “Shddup Dean.”

_“It’s a world of hopes, it’s a world of fears…”_

“Seriously, Dean, shut up,” Sam spat at his brother, rolling over. Sam opened his eyes to turn the noise off, and let out a loud yelp and fell off his bed with a loud thump. Sam reached for the baseball bat and hit the thing off his bookshelf as hard as he could and the creepy singing voice deepened and faded as if Sam had hurt its feelings.

Sam scrambled to Dean’s side of the room and flipped the lights on. On the floor with a slightly smashed in face was a toy clown that had once sung “It’s a Small World.” Furious, Sam turned to the door. “Dean, what the HELL?”

The older Winchester, however, didn’t say anything because it looked as if he was convulsing. His face was beet-red and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes. He kept moving his hand up as if to say ‘one moment,’ but it was clear that he wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

“You’re a friggin’ jerk, Dean,” Sam hissed. He glanced at the clock. It was 4:15 in the morning and he had school that day. “Seriously, what the hell?”

Dean finally calmed down enough to compose himself. “I saw that little guy earlier today and thought he needed a home and I knew someone who’d love a new friend. You’d always wanted to go to Disneyland, so I figured I’d help you out a bit.”

Dean dodged a well-aimed pillow and hopped into bed still smiling as he flipped off the lights. “I’m sorry but it was too good, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” he heard from his brother’s bed.

“Whatever, _Samantha._ I’ve seen Chihuahua’s more manly than you.”

A small mumble came from the lump in the darkness. “You better sleep with your eyes open.”

Dean propped himself up on one elbow, a wicked grin making its way onto his face. “Is that a challenge?”

“No, it’s a warning,” Sam stated.

“Ooohoo, big man now that the scary-wary clown isn’t there.”

“You’re gonna be sorry, I swear,” Sam said turning to face the sound of his brother’s voice.

“Fine, then,” Dean said impiously. “The game is on.”

* * *

 

Dean awoke at 6:45 and slowly forced himself to get out of bed and get ready for school. Sam was sitting on his bed working on some history homework. It wasn’t even due until three days from now. _Nerd._ His dweeby little brother thought he could actually out prank him? Please.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Dean told Sam.

“Don’t hog all the hot water,” Sam commented, not bothering to look up from his book.

“I would never,” Dean gasped with mock offense. He opened the bathroom door and stepped in. Everything seemed to be in place. Despite his little brother being inexperienced with pranking, he couldn’t help but be slightly suspicious just on principle. Not finding anything out of the ordinary, Dean relaxed and turned the shower on to the hottest setting and stepped inside. The hot water beat down upon him and relaxed his muscles as he lathered shampoo into his hair, making it stick up in spikes going every which way. He grinned knowing this would take a while and Sam would get stuck with the cold water.

20 minutes later (and an angry Sam pounding on the door twice), Dean felt thoroughly clean.  He ran his hands through his hair a few times, and went to put on deodorant. As he rubbed it he noticed it was melted and got all over the t-shirt he had slipped on.

“What the—ERGH!“ Dean looked closer at it. It _looked_ like deodorant, but it smelled strange, almost milky. And now it had stained his shirt.

“Sam! What the hell!” Dean shouted storming into their shared room. “What have you done to my deodorant? I just showered and I smell like rancid milk!”

Sam peered up from the top of his history textbook. “Oh nothing,” he said feigning innocence. “I just substituted one white chunk of deodorant for another white chunk—of cream cheese, that is.”

“It got all over my favorite shirt, you ass,” Dean snapped as he took off his beloved Led Zeppelin shirt.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Sam quipped with a twinkle in his eyes.

Heavy footsteps quieted both boys as John Winchester popped his head in the room. “What’s going on, Dean? Why are you shouting like a lunatic?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed; saying anything would end the game. They’d both have to be more careful from now on. “Nothing, dad. Just thought I saw a spider.”

John snorted. “A spider? Didn’t know you were such a girl, Dean. Both of you need to hurry up if you want me to drop you off.”

As their father retreated Dean pulled on a clean shirt. “Watch your back, Sammy.”

* * *

 

Sam had gone through his entire school day in a dream-like state, trying to figure out how next to torment his older brother. It’d be easy enough to do something like put Tabasco sauce on his burgers instead of ketchup, or saran wrap the toilet, but he had to do something better. He wanted to prove to Dean that despite being only 10 years old that he wasn’t a force to be messed around with. At the same time, Sam was constantly watching his back in case Dean cut class and made a guest appearance at his elementary school. However, the day passed by, uneventful.

Dean arrived at exactly 3 o’clock, like always, and it seemed that maybe Sam was taking the stupid prank war a little too far. Dean was nice enough to even carry his backpack full of books. Maybe after the cream cheese thing they were even...still, since when had Dean ever been known for quitting? Sam shoved the unpleasant thought from his mind as they arrived to the run-down condo that served as home crappy home. “I’ve got homework I’m gonna do,” Sam informed his brother. Their dad wasn’t home yet, and he wanted to get in as much of it as he could before the mandatory nightly training session.

“Mmm,” Dean mumbled uninterested as he plopped himself down on the couch in front of the TV.

“You know, you should do your homework too,” Sam chided.

“Jeez, Sam, what are you? My mother? I’m fine, I’ll do it later,” the older Winchester said, eyes glued to a _Star Trek_ rerun.

Sam rolled his eyes and sat at the desk in their room. He unzipped his backpack and reached in to pull out his notebook when a sharp pain erupted in his finger. “Ow! Crap! What the he—“

Looking up at Sam from his backpack was a pair of red eyes.

“Dean! Get in here! Now!” Sam shouted, applying pressure to his cut finger.

Dean ran into the room a large grin spreading across his face. ‘Whatever do you need, little brother?”

“Rat,” Sam hissed. “You put a rat in my backpack?”

“Of course not! I may have gently escorted it, but I never deliberately placed put it in your backpack. It did it of it’s own free will,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“It BIT ME!” Sam hollered.

“You’ve had worse.”

“I could get rabies!”

“You’ve still had worse. Besides, you have all your shots.”

“That’s not the point! And—“ Sam pulled out his history book, “it took a dump all over my homework!”

Dean burst out laughing, clearly unable to contain himself and jumped back and forth from one foot to the other.

“My homework!” Sam roared.

“I always said you needed to put that crap aside for a day,” Dean said delighted at his own pun.

“You’re a jerk,” Sam fumed.

“If it’s too much for you, little bro, we can call off this whole thing and declare me the victor.” Dean reached into Sam’s backpack and pulled out the rat.

“When hell freezes over!” Sam snorted. He would get Dean back if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully seeing as their dad came back and made them do the nightly training exercises. Other than a question about Sam’s finger (‘Nothing, sir. It’s just a paper-cut’), neither brother had much of a chance to do anything else.

Dean didn’t sleep a wink that night, just in case, though. He was almost a hundred percent sure Sam didn’t either, but the game was getting heated and now was not the time to let down his guard.

The next morning, after having made sure no funny cream cheese accidents repeated themselves, Dean got ready and walked Sam to school. Neither said very much because for the time being it was like conversing with your assassin. “I’ll pick you up here at 3, like always,” Dean told Sammy as he dropped him off.

“I’ll be here,” Sam told him and watched as his brother walked away. Now, the waiting game began. Sam looked at the sea of high school students making their ways to the school across the street from the elementary.

Sam’s eyes scanned the crowd until he spotted someone he knew. “Hey! Hey Roger! Come here!”

A tall boy with an athletic build made his way over. “You’re Winchester’s brother, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” Sam told him. “Look, I need you to do me a favor…”

* * *

 

As a freshman, Dean supposed he was theoretically supposed to be at the bottom of the totem pole. However, he’d made it very clear, very quick that nobody messed with Dean Winchester. He was quiet, save the few snarky comments he’d make in the back of the room that gained him his peers respect and his teachers’ distrust. Overall though, it wasn’t too bad. School was just school. Nothing exciting. As fourth period rolled around, Dean made his way to his locker; He’d lucked out since it was by most of the freshmen girl’s lockers.

 _Miracles do come true_ , he thought to himself as he spun the dial on the lock. With a _click_ the door unlocked and Dean pulled it open only to find himself showered in what only could’ve been hundreds of Ping-Pong balls.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean growled, as the entire hallway was full of Ping-Pong balls making their bid for freedom. He could hear laughter from a few girls on his right, and he was opened his mouth to tell them to pipe down when somebody pulled on his shoulder.

He spun around to find himself facing the Vice Principal who was a large man, with angular features. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on here, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean looked up at the man trying his best to emulate Sammy’s puppy eyes. “I don’t know, sir. I opened my locker and all the Ping-Pong balls fell out.”

“Did you give anybody your locker code?” the Vice Principal asked, clearly aggravated.

“No, of course not! Nobody except…” Dean spun around. Did Sammy sneak out and do this? No, the kid was too much of a geek.

“Nobody except?” The man questioned.

“Nobody except my brother, but he’s at the elementary school,” Dean explained swallowing his anger.

The large man sighed. “Is this some cry for attention or something, Mr. Winchester?”

“What? No!” Dean said annoyed. “It’s some idiot who thought it was funny to pull the most juvenile prank in the book!”

The vice principal stared down at him. “If it is some attention-seeking rebellion that you kids seem bent on having, there are guidance coun—“

“No, I don’t need a shrink!” Dean gasped horrified at the idea. “I need some justice!”

“We’ll look into it,” the Vice Principal told him dubiously. “In the meantime, please clean up, someone could trip and get hurt.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said glaring at him. _Asshat._ The urge to sing the lyrics to Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall” rose within Dean, but he resisted. The last thing he needed was a detention.

“Good,” the man said walking away from the mess, clearly oblivious to Dean’s surge of animosity.

Dean began picking up the Ping-Pong balls and throwing them in the trash. If Sam wanted to play hard, then fine. Bring it.

* * *

 

 “So,” Sam asked casually on the way home from school, “anything exciting happen today? Pretty boring on my end.”

“Shut up, smart ass. You know damn well what happened, I just wanna know how,” Dean snapped at him.

Unable to contain his genius planning, Sam launched into his story. “Well, I had thought it out the day before. I knew after the cream cheese thing, you’d do something bigger and better, so I waited to see just how far it would go.”

“Testing the waters, huh? Pretty slick, Sammy,” Dean commented without realizing it.

“Yeah, well, it’s why I always win at Battleships. You always wanna go for the big kill, when sometimes you need to let some ships get taken,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the next Eisenhower. Keep going.”

“Anyway,” Sam said ignoring his brother’s jab, “I thought something big at your school would be nice. The problem was getting the job done. After you dropped me off at school this morning, I spotted Roger—“

“Wait, Roger? That kid who tried to make me move seats because I was a freshman and I had to pin him to the wall?” Dean asked incredulously.

“That’s the one,” Sam nodded. “So I asked Roger if he’d be willing to take twenty dollars and pull a harmless prank on you. He was only too happy to oblige.”

“Wait? You used the kid who hated me against me? That’s low, Sammy.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Sam told him simply.

“Shut up already, you sound like goddam Yoda.” Dean fumed as he fumbled with the keys to open the door. “How did you know who Roger was anyway? You’d never met him and that incident happened at school.”

“One day we were walking home and you kept staring at him as if preparing yourself to jump him or something,” Sam explained. “You hated him so he was either some freaky supernatural thing in disguise, Roger, or one of Roger’s friends. I didn’t think it was the first one, since dad probably never would’ve let us leave the house, and either of the last two options were okay with me.” Sam shrugged and gave Dean a smile that showed off his perfect dimples.

Dean stared at Sammy as he finally unlocked the door to their house. The kid was on the fast track to being freaky smart, and Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Probably weirded out, irritated at his know-it-all attitude, and (deep, deep down) proud. “Dude. That’s so wrong on so many levels.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but gave Dean a gloating look. He was clearly enjoying himself a little too much and needed to be knocked off a few pegs.

“I’m going to grab food for later since dad isn’t home. You know the drill when I’m not around,” Dean informed his brother.

“Yeah, yeah. Locked windows and doors, salt lines, blah blah blah,” Sam said rolling his eyes.

“It won’t be funny if Dad comes home before night and finds out you didn’t take precautions, smart ass,” Dean said annoyed.

Dean was about to walk out the door when something struck him. “Hey wait, where’d you get twenty bucks from?”

“I know you’ve been saving up for a new album. The money was in the left toe of a pair of shoes you hardly wear. I borrowed it,” Sam said sickeningly sweet.

Dean stood shocked. His baby brother was certainly no longer a baby…at least mentally. The little shit had really stepped up his game. “It’s taken me months to save that!” Dean said acidly.

“Hey, if it’s too much for you, _big bro_ , we can call off this whole thing and declare me the victor,” Sam said mimicking Dean’s earlier words.

“Haha, very funny,” Dean snapped. “I’ll be back.”

Once outside Dean made his way to the local drug store, if Sam wanted him to treat him like an equal, he would.

* * *

 

Weapons training that night was surprisingly light that night, instead both boys focused mostly on Stamina. It was a 4-mile run, and neither Dean nor Sam said anything, but both of them were oddly determined to stay at the same pace. Usually Sam trailed behind a little, but now with the prank war in full swing he couldn’t risk Dean being out of his site. Likewise, Dean slowed down a smidge, determined to keep at least one eye on Sam at all times.

“Take it easy boys,” John said as they came into his view with no signs of slowing down. Automatically both younger Winchesters halted the run as if in synch with one another. “Go take a shower and finish whatever homework you’re working on.”

Sam took the opportunity and bolted to the shower, determined not to let Dean use all the hot water up.

Sam locked the door, mentally reminding himself to scour every inch of their room when he got back to it. No doubt Dean would have done something to it by then. Sam let the boiling water soothe his aching muscles, as he reached for the bottle of shampoo. He squirted a generous amount in his hand and lathered it into his scalp. He loved feeling clean, it just felt right. Sam enjoyed the feeling for a moment longer and he began to rinse his hair. He pulled at a knot in the back when a large clump of hair came out. _What the hell?_ Sam ran his fingers through his hair again and a large patch of hair came out them. Sam looked around him, and slowly his long hair was being washed into the drain.

Sam let out a bloodcurdling scream. “DEAN!”

* * *

 

John had been sitting at the small kitchen table sipping coffee while Dean had tried to explain to him why he didn’t feel the need to have math higher than basic arithmetic when the loudest scream had emerged from the bathroom that Sam was in. John immediately got up and ran to the door despite Dean’s protests of “wait, I can explain.” He’d heard Sam scream out of fear, but this was an entirely new level. He sounded like he was being tortured.

“Sam! Open up! Open the door!” John pounded.

There was no response from Sam.

“Open up or I will break this door down!”

Still no answer.

John braced himself to kick down the door when Sam emerged in his pajamas and a towel on his head. “What the he—“ John’s question was cut off because Sam had flung himself past him and had hurled himself at Dean who had peeked in from the hallway.

“You’re a total dick, Dean!” Sam shouted as he knocked Dean to the floor by the impact of Sam throwing himself on him.

“What the hell is going on?” John asked again.

Dean didn’t even hear his dad’s question as he fell to the floor laughing as Sam hit him. He didn’t even bother trying to stop him it was so damn funny.

“You. Are. An. Ass!” Sam shouted trying to hit hard at the same time as he tried to keep the towel on his head from falling.

Sick of being kept out of the loop, John strode over and picked Sam up off of Dean as he continued to reach for him in the air. It was almost comical. “That’s enough,” he told Sam sharply. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Dean,” Sam spat.

“Dean what is he talking about?” John asked.

Dean didn’t dare ignore his father any longer and looked away as he mumbled, “It was just a joke.”

“What are you talking about? Sam what is he talking about?” John turned and faced his youngest.

Shaking with anger, Sam slowly unraveled the towel on his head. Instead of the shaggy brown bangs and bowl cut that Sam usually sported, was something that looked like it had been cut by hedge clippers. Patches of hair were completely missing, and other portions were uneven and different thicknesses.

John’s jaw dropped. He’d never liked Sam’s long hair because it got in his eyes during target practice, but he’d never wanted to see Sam looking like a _Troll_ doll either.  “Dean, did you do this?” His voice was deadly calm.

“Yes, but—“

“Why the HELL would you do this?” he shouted. “You’re fourteen, not four!”

“He pranked me too!” Dean stammered. “He filled my locker with Ping-Pong balls and almost got me sent to a shrink!” Dean glared at Sam and gave him an If-I-Go-Down-I’m-Taking-You-With-Me look.

John rubbed his eyes. He’s take ghosts and evil spirits any day over the two tornadoes he called kids. “Sam, did you do that?”

“Yes, but—“

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But dad!” Sam protested.

“No!” John shouted finally losing his temper. “You both act like you’re wild animals, Jesus.”

Dad, I—“ Dean began.   
  “Can it, Dean! I’m not in the mood.” John glared at both of them, and they at least had the decency to look away.

“You’re gonna have to buzz your remaining hair off,” he told Sam who looked like he was torn between screaming and crying.

“I’ll look like a freak! Everyone’s gonna think I’m a freak!” he said in despair.

“You chose to play this stupid little prank war. The fact that it escalated and you couldn’t take it isn’t my problem,” John told him flatly.

Sam could feel his was hot and red and he had to will himself not to cry. “I can take it,” he muttered.

“Then stop bitching,” his dad told him. John turned to Dean, “And you—maybe you do need a goddam shrink. It’s supposed to be harmless fun, not a full-on war.”

“Sorry, sir,” Dean mumbled feeling the heat creep into his ears and neck.

“Both of you are grounded for two months. No TV, no comics, you come straight home after school and stay in your room until I tell you to come out, and you’re both training for an extra two hours on Saturday and Sunday. Are we clear?” John asked daring one of them to groan in protest However, he was met with silence. “Good. Now I’m gonna finish my coffee and you’re both going to bed. Now!”

Both boys scrambled into the other room eager to escape what reminded Sam of the eye of Sauron that they called their dad.

* * *

 

Dean glanced at the clock. It was only 11:30. Their dad had sent them to bed two hours ago. Who freaking slept at 9:30? He sighed, figuring this was what it would be like for two months.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said hesitantly.

Sam grunted, his back turned to him. _Okay, grunting is good. It’s something._

“House arrest, huh? We should plan a prison break or something.”

Sam snorted in disgust. “Go ahead, I hope dad kicks your ass.”

“Please, like I’d get caught. I’m a pro,” Dean told him waiting for some smart assed response. When no response was given he spoke again. “Um, I’m, you know, um… I feel bad things escalated that much. I didn’t meant to make you that mad.”

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled.

“Seriously, I mean it. Besides,” Dean chuckled darkly, “we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, and if this is how it’s going to be I’m gonna end up having to take some precautions.”

In spite of himself, Sam rolled over and faced Dean. “Like what?”

“Like I’m gonna bring a cassette player and play my music at full blast.”

“It probably counts as having fun, therefore we can’t do it,” Sam said sourly.

“Well homework counts as fun for you, so you can’t do that either,” Dean informed him.

Despite being pissed Sam let out a small laugh. “I think I’ll get a pass on that, but your concern is touching.”

“Anytime, bro,” Dean said rolling up and facing the ceiling. He was getting bored just thinking about being locked up here for more than a week. “I really am sorry.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, it’ll grow back in a few months. I guess I’ll just wear a hat around for a while or something.”

“You could always tell them people you’re sick. They’ll be real nice to you.”

“Dude, that’s wrong even for you,” Sam said disgusted.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asked.

“What?”

“If we were to theoretically plan a prison break, how would we do it?”

  
Sam stared at Dean incredulously. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’re better at Battleship than me,” Dean told him simply.

“Well,” Sam said thinking about it, “it would have to be after a week and half minimum with perfect behavior. This should throw off suspicion, since dad’s relying on fear…”

Dean smiled as he took in his little brother’s words. Playing “How do we escape without dad killing us” had just become his new favorite game


	12. Chapter 12: Driving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this evolved into a slightly larger chapter than I had originally envisioned, but hopefully it plays out alright. As always, enjoy!

**Chapter 12: Driving**

“Arizona!” Sam shouted gleefully as he gave Dean a hard punch in the shoulder. He was winning. He would always win at this game. Dean was simply far too ADD to focus on the game the _entire_ drive from California to Minnesota.

“Goddammit!” Dean growled cradling his arm. Sam didn’t look very big, but he could pack one hell of a punch.  “Next time I see a license plate from out of state you’re gonna be seeing stars.” Dean turned away from his brother and looked out the window. He didn’t know who came up with the license plate game, but he was beginning to hate them. Every time the younger Winchesters spotted an out-of-state license plate they could hit the other as long as they shouted out the license plate correctly. If they got the state wrong when they shouted it out, the other got a free punch and the point. The game required constant vigilance on the highway, and that wasn’t really Dean’s forte.

Another heavy punch followed by the fervent exclamation of “Kansas!” snapped Dean back to reality as he scanned the road.

“There’s no goddam Kansas plate! I get to hit you!”

“Nuh-uh,” Sam taunted. “The Impala’s plate is from Kansas.”

“What the—that doesn’t count you cheater!” Dean spluttered.

Sam crossed his arms petulantly. “Does too.”

“No! It doesn’t!” Dean said waving his hands in exasperation.

Sam crinkled his brow in thought and then uncrossed his arms. “Says who?”

“Says me,” Dean quipped rolling his eyes.

“Well, it never says you can’t in the rules,” Sam pointed out.

Dean crossed his arms. “I just made it a rule.”

“Dude, you can’t remake the rules when you’ve already established them!

Dean gave Sam a classic Winchester smirk. “Sure I can, wanna know why?” Dean waited for Sam to take the bait and finally Sam nodded. “I can change the rules whenever I want because I’m oldest.”

That earned Dean a whack on the back of his head. “That’s crap. Older doesn’t mean you get to be the ultimate authority,” Sam countered.

Dean was about to retort when he noticed the car stopped moving. His little argument with Sam had made him miss the last 5 minutes of their journey, and they weren’t on the highway anymore. In front of Dean was a large white church that had minimal embellishing. It was plain and simple, but it brought a smile to his lips. “You didn’t tell us we were coming to Pastor Jim’s, dad!”

“You’re just excited Jim spoils you both,” John said getting off the car.

“That’s not true, dad. I love listening to him nag about how I should swear less and listen to the music quieter,” Dean told him grinning.

“Pastor Jim has a nice library,” Sam commented to himself.

“Nerd,” Dean huffed under his breath as his feet touched down upon the green Minnesota grass. The air was crisp and it smelled fresh, as if it had rained and the dirt was still damp.

“Illiterate,” Sam snapped back as he followed suit and exited the Impala.

“Behave,” John ordered both his sons. “Last thing I need is a lecture from old man Jim about how I’ve raised savages.”

“We’d never misbehave,” Dean said looking at his dad innocently.

“Smart ass,” John muttered rolling his eyes. The three Winchesters made their way to the back of the church where a small house was located 100 feet away. Before John got a chance to knock the door swung open to reveal the older hunter with a smile on his face.

“John,” the pastor said firmly grasping his hand. “Good to see you all in one piece.”

“Yeah, you too, Jim,” John said smiling as he stepped inside the house.

“Samuel! You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. How old were you? 9? 10?”

            “I was 9 and a half, sir,” Sam said stepping into an embrace from the pastor.

            A snort came from behind. “Grown? Look at him, he’s a midget.”

            “Dean. Charming as ever,” the Pastor said sarcastically as he stepped over and pulled him into a hug.

            Dean clapped him on the back and broke the hug off. That was very _chick-flick._ “You know it.”

            “Both you boys can go upstairs to the usual room you stay in,” Jim told him. “There might be something waiting for you.”

             Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and then both bolted to try and get upstairs first. The clamor of feet on the stairs was met with Sam’s cry of “you pushed me” as Dean inevitably beat him to the top.

            Jim Murphy smiled despite knowing that his house would soon be turned upside-down. The times John had left the boys with him when he was off on a hunting trip were never boring to say the least. “Coffee, John?”

“Yeah, thanks,” John said following the pastor into the kitchen and taking a seat.

“Long drive?” Jim asked as he pulled out a large mug from the cabinet.

“That’s one way to put it,” John sighed. “I don’t honestly know how you expect me to help you with what you’re dealing with here.”

Jim looked around to make sure the boys weren’t around and poured John his coffee. “I believe it’s a demon. They’re powerful, nothing that I know of can kill them.”

John sipped his coffee. “Great. Hunting a big bad that nothing can kill. Sounds like a cakewalk.”

“I’ve hunted one before,” Jim continued urgently, his voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s definitely a two person job. They _can_ be stopped, but it’s no easy doing.”

“Yeah, because everything’s been so easy,” John muttered sarcastically.

“This isn’t something to joke about!” the pastor said urgently. “It needs to be exorcised. It’s the only way of stopping it, but I can’t do it alone.”

“Hence the reason I’m here. Got it.”

Ignoring his friend, Jim continued. “It’s in the next town over, Fairmont. From what I hear there are 7 dead already. This needs to end soon, who knows if it will come to Blue Earth or just up and leave.”

“When should we head out?” John asked.

“As soon as I gather a few supplies,” the pastor said mulling over his thoughts. “In a day or so. For now take it easy and read up on this.” The pastor slammed a stack of papers onto the table.

“You’re giving me homework?” John asked in disbelief.

“You better believe it, Winchester,” the Pastor said with a wry smile.

Several hours later, John sat weary-eyed at the kitchen table trying to make heads or tails of Jim’s information. His brain, however, refused to cooperate. Certain words just flashed in his mind like “Holy Water,” “Possession,” and “Black eyes.” John closed his eyes trying to picture how a demon would look, since he’d never seen one. Sure, he’d heard of them, but he’d never actually seen one in the flesh. An involuntary shudder ran through his body as he pictured Dean’s bright green eyes or Sam’s hazel flashing a dark black.

John snapped his eyes open and he noticed his hands were balled into fists. He stood up and walked outside to take a breath of fresh air. Blue Earth was pretty in the spring. It was still cold, but the sun shone on the green grass and it gave the landscape a picturesque feel. In front of the church he spotted Sam and Dean playing with a miniature remote control car Jim had given them. He smiled as he made his way over. _Spoiled rotten, these kids._

“Hey dad!” Dean called waving him over. “Pretty neat car, huh?”

“Look what it can do,” Sam spouted excitedly as he made the car dive backwards.

“That’s neat, kiddo,” John said without much zeal.

“Dad, are you okay?” Dean asked picking up on his dad’s paled demeanor right away.

“What? ‘Course. I’m fine,” John said as he cleared his throat. No way in hell was he ever letting his boys get close to this.

“You sure?” Dean questioned softly.

“Yeah. It’s a nice toy you’ve got there,” John deflected.

“It really is,” Dean agreed as he turned back to the toy car. “Not as cool as driving a real car of course, but it’s close.”

An impulsive need to get away from the Pastor’s kitchen surged through John and he heard himself saying, “Well, do you wanna?”

“Do I wanna what, dad?” Dean asked absentmindedly.

“Drive. Do you wanna learn to drive?”

Dean froze. “You serious?”

“Yeah, hundred percent,” John said earnestly.

“Hell yeah I want to drive!” Dean said eagerly. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

“Can it, Samantha. I wasn’t the one who threw a bitch fit because I got a B+ on a history test.”

“I didn’t! I was just annoyed because I did a ton of work on that project and my—“ Sam argued until Dean cut him off.

“Don’t care. Get in the car, Sammy!” Dean said his face aglow with excitement.

“You are _way_ too happy about this,” Sam commented giving Dean a look of mild disgust.

“Damn straight! I’ve waited 15 years for this. You’re just young and naïve, Sammy. Ah, to be 11 and a geek.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam said climbing into the backseat of the Impala.

“Bitch,” Dean retorted catching the keys his dad had tossed him and sliding into the driver’s seat. So this was what true power felt like.

John sat in the passenger’s seat feeling a strange sense of remorse. When had his son grown up so much? _The day of the fire,_ a bitter voice quipped in the back of his mind. Trying to escape his own thoughts John spoke again. “Okay, check for cars in back of you, and then put her into reverse, and gently back up.”

“We’re all gonna die!” Sam moaned from the backseat.

“Now who’s being dramatic,” Dean snapped as he tried to concentrate on following his dad’s instructions. Slowly, he pulled out of the church’s entrance where the Impala had been parked.

“Okay, now you’re gonna pull out onto the road and drive straight down. Try and keep a steady speed, “ John instructed.

Dean clutched the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline and slowly made his way onto the empty Minnesota road. The Impala crawled along the road and dean could feel his palms sweating.

“Dean?” Sam asked from the back.

“What?” Dean growled.

“You’re going like 5 miles an hour.”

Dean pressed the gas to accelerate, but he pushed too hard and the Impala shot forward, forcing Dean to slam on the brakes. All three Winchesters flew forward as the car stopped.

Sam yelped, “I knew it! Dean’s gonna kill us!”

“Dammit, Dean! That’s bad for the brakes!” John barked. “Sam, keep quiet while Dean drives.”

“Sorry, dad. Didn’t mean to,” Dean gasped alarmed at the pickup the car had.

“Gently push the gas, you don’t need to push on it like the incredible Hulk,” John said repositioning himself after being pushed forward unceremoniously.

Dean eased into the gas and the Impala coasted at a smooth 20 miles per hour. This wasn’t that bad. He was starting to get the hang of it after a few minutes. Dean began to relax until the car behind him let out a loud honk and switched lanes and overtook the Impala.

“Hey, Screw you asshat!” Dean shouted.

“Dean, maybe you should try going a little faster. You’re equally likely to get into an accident for going slow as you are for going fast,” John warned.

The adrenaline pumped through his body, as Dean pressed on the gas a little more and the car began to speed up. Dean’s whole body felt jittery, he’d wanted to do this for years, he only hoped he wasn’t driving completely horribly.

“Dean you drive like a grandma,” Sam commented.

“At least I can reach the gas pedal,” Dean replied pushing down on the pedal harder. Sam gave a horrified gasp as the Impala shot forward and the speed increased to 70 miles an hour.

“Dean! Slow down and stop fooling around,” John growled. “At the light you’re going to make a U-turn and head back to the church.”

“Aww, c’mon dad. I’ve only been driving like 15 minutes,” Dean complained.

“Yeah, and the 15 it’ll take to drive back will have made it 30.”

Sighing Dean obeyed and made a turn that was far too wide. Luckily no other cars were nearby to hear the sounds of tires squealing against the pavement as Dean tried to slow down. With a jolt the car was en route back to Pastor Jim’s with all three Winchesters intact, albeit a little banged up from hitting the doors every time Dean slammed on the brakes.

25 minutes later and the Impala came to a stop in front of the church. Pastor Jim was waiting by the door with a grave look on his face.

Dean, completely oblivious got off the car with a loud whoop. “This is the best day of my life! Nothing but freedom on the open road!”

“Dad was sitting next to you the whole time, hot shot,” Sam reminded him.

“Don’t be such a bitch, Samantha,” Dean said slapping the back of Sam’s head.

“Language, young man,” Pastor Jim chastised with a smile. “Your boy’s got a wonderful vocabulary, John.”

“I learned from the best,” Dean said innocently.

“Brat. Go inside with your brother,” John told him. As the two younger Winchesters made their way inside Jim’s house, John turned his mind back to the case. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been another murder, some poor girl looking for a ride, from what I hear. This thing is just getting started. We need to move out sometime later tonight, before it kills again,” Jim explained urgently.

John rubbed his eyes. “Fine, we’ll move out tonight. Will the boys be safe here?” A note of fear had crept into his voice.

“Yes, the church is hallowed ground. Demons can’t come onto the premise,” Jim said making his way into the house.

John followed him anxiously. “And how exactly do you think we’re gonna stop this demon?”

Jim ran a hand through his grey hair nervously. “It’s a long shot, but then again, anything involving a demon is—“

“Spit it out, old man,” John said increasingly on edge.

“To get rid of it I need to exorcise it,” Jim told him, “but before I even begin trying to exorcise it, that thing will kill us 10 different ways.”

“Great,” John snorted. “How do I help?”

“There is a certain sigil that can keep demons inside of it, it’s called a devil’s trap,” Jim said pulling out an old yellowed piece of parchment. On it was a large pentagram with strange markings at each of the concave portions. “The problem is, getting a demon into one of these won’t be easy…”

“So how are we—“ John began to ask. “Wait. You want me to play bait?”

Jim’s eyes shifted, but the note of determination was strong. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t absolutely have to, but we can’t let a demon keep killing people. Plus, I’ll be right there the whole time. You’d have to go in first and goad it into the trap.”

“That sounds like a damn gamble if you ask me,” John said dryly.

“I know, I—you know what maybe I should forge—“ Jim began.

“No,” John interrupted. “I’ll do it. I’m always up for icing an evil son of a bitch.”

“Are you sure?” Jim pressed. “I won’t think less of you if you don’t, and you have your boys…”

“I’m sure,” John insisted. “The boy’s will be fine.”

“All right. I’ve loaded up my car with iron, salt, holy water, and everything we’ll need for the hunt. We’ll leave soon,” Jim confirmed ticking off a mental checklist.

“Where ya going?” Dean asked as he popped his head into the living room.

“I’ve gotta job to do, Dean. We’ll be heading out later tonight,” John told him.

‘What kinda job? Dad, can I come? I can hel—“ Dean said as words poured out of him.

“No. I need you to stay here with your brother,” John told him.

“Please, dad! I’ve been hunting with you before, and I’m a good shot and—“

“Dean, I said no!” John said firmly. “It’s not any ordinary salt ‘n burn or some D-list monster hunt. I need you to stay here, and that’s final.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Are you gonna be alright?”

“’Course I’ll be alright. I’m always alright,” John said brushing off his eldest son’s fears.

“Seriously, dad. What are you even hunting?” Dean asked thumbing the amulet hanging from his neck nervously.

John surveyed his eldest son. He was tough for a 15 year old and had proven to be a great hunter in the making. He sighed and finally said, “we’re hunting a demon, Dean.”

Dean did a double take. “A demon? Like _The Exorcist?_ You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“There are apparently demons out there that you can send to hell, so if the shoe fits…”

“Can they do the head thing?” Dean asked eagerly.

“Who knows,” John replied with a smile. “But from what I hear they’re powerful sons of bitches, so you and Sam have to stay here. They can’t come onto church grounds.”

“But dad, you might need backup or something,” Dean argued.

“I’ve got Jim with me,” John replied adamantly as he straightened up to look down upon Dean. “You’re staying here, not another word.”

“I—yes, sir,” Dean said defeated. “Can you at least tell me about them?”

“Well, they can possess people…typically those who are more vulnerable to begin with—usually have a wound, either mental or physical. Holy water hurts ‘em, as does salt, but that’s all I really know,” John confessed.

“Wow, dad. That sounds super. Just freaking awesome.” Dean tried to keep the look of disapproval off his face. “What are me and Sam supposed to do all night?”

“I dunno. Don’t set anything on fire and stay on the church grounds.”

“Can we at least go and get pizza and rent a movie,” Dean pleaded.

“Not tonight,” John said tersely. “I’ve got to go talk to Jim, we should be leaving within the hour, though.”

“John, we’ve gotta go,” Dean heard a voice call from the other room.

“Well speak of the devil,” John murmured. “Dean, please. Watch out for Sammy, and—“

“Shoot first, ask questions later. Got it, dad. Just… be careful out there, ok?” Dean asked with a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

John stared at Dean and for a moment he looked like the scared kid he’d scooped up outside the burning house so many years ago. However, the next moment it was gone and Dean’s face was a steely resolve. “Good. Maybe we’ll go driving again sometime soon.” Giving Dean a firm squeeze on the shoulder, John walked out the door.

It didn’t take long to get to Fairmont seeing as it was only a 30-minute drive down the I-90. They’d been parked outside the demon’s house for hours, however. They’d set up a devil’s trap near the small library/living room when the demon was out and now they were merely biding their time until it returned. John Winchester sat in the passenger seat of Jim’s large truck that was parked outside a house at the edge of Fairmont, wondering if he’d have felt calmer if he were in the Impala. The classic Chevy had a way of soothing all ills, at least on a superficial level. The familiar scent of leather, sweat, and gunpowder reminded him of driving and listening to Dean and Sam playing the stupid license plate game. How simple things could be… A car pulled into the driveway and a shadowy figure got out and made its way into the house.

“Are you listening to me, John?” Jim snapped.

“Wha—yeah ‘course. You were talking about the vics. They all had some sort of kink in their armor or whatever. Don’t be such a hardass,” John told him rolling his eyes.

“Excuse me for caring for your safety,” Jim said shooting him a look of disgust. “And you call yourself a professional. Anyway, I was telling you that so you’d be prepared. You need to calm down or you’ll be wide open for demonic possession.”

“I’m always calm,” John told him. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. I’ll go in. You need to stay outside and when I tell you to, come in and begin the exorcism.”

“Alright,” Jim said opening the door of his truck and stepping out into the chilly Minnesota air. “I’ll be right behind you.”

John crept to the front of the house and easily picked the lock. The house was so _ordinary._ It was slightly disheveled, with a nicely sized two-story layout. John passed a kitchen with dishes still dirty in the sink. It was all too easy. He continued to move forward as he tiptoed throughout the silent house. The wooden floor creaked loudly as he stepped near the living room entrance.

In a panic John turned around, only to find nobody there. He could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest and was surprised the hell spawn hadn’t heard it by now. Forcing himself to relax, John turned around only to find himself slammed into a wall.

A white-hot pain erupted from John’s skull as it connected with the wall behind him. A firm hand was grasping his throat and he struggled for breath, while he fought to keep the demon from strangling him.

A kid who couldn’t have been older than 20 smirked as her eyes flashed black. “I was waiting for one of you idiots to show up around here. Suicide missions are like a calling card for hunters, aren’t they?”

“Whose skin are you wearing, you son of a bitch?” John gasped as he used his free hand to begin to unscrew the holy water in his pocket. “I would’ve thought you’d go for someone without pimples.”

“Oh this little thing?” the demon asked in mock surprise as her grasp tightened on John. “It’s a loaner. Not my usual taste, but you know? Times are tough.”

“I can tell, you’ve got junior here still in braces,” John said continuing to fumble with the bottle of holy water.

“Now, now, no need to be so harsh,” the demon cooed. “Unless, you prefer pretty little blondes, they’re supposed to be more fun.”

John froze. There was no way it _knew_ about Mary or what had happened.

The demon laughed. “You really think you of all people could fly under the radar?”

“You don’t know shit,” John spat in denial.

 “Everyone knows you, John Winchester. The great monster slayer who tragically watched as his wife was barbequed onto the ceiling.” The demon leaned in and John could feel a chill was over him as it squeezed his cheeks. “But that’s not all, is it? Mary had some little lambs that followed their daddy to work. Where are the little munchkins? I’d like to pay my respects.”

“You’ll never touch my boys, ever,” John snarled as his fingers worked furiously to uncap the bottle of holy water without tipping the demon off.

“Of course I will,” the demon sneered. “When I’m done with daddy I’ll find them and strip the skin from your son’s pretty little faces. They’ll probably cry, and it’ll probably hurt.” The demon looked at John with a fake sincerity. “At least you’ll go quickly.”

“Don’t be so sure!” John shouted as he used his free hand to throw holy water onto the demon’s face.

The demon hissed and steam emanated from its body as it staggered backwards into the middle of the living room. “That’s your last mistake, Winchester.” The demon snarled as it got up and walked towards John. The demon laughed. “This will be so much fu—“

The demon had been stopped by an invisible force and was bounced back to the middle. An astonished expression crossed its face.

John slowly moved from the wall. He could feel his head dripping blood onto his arm, and he was sure at least a few ribs had cracked. “Gotcha, bitch,” he said lifting up a corner of the living room rug to reveal a devil’s trap. “Hey Jim, I got it!”

The pastor stepped into the room cautiously. “John you’re bleeding!”

“Yeah well what’d you expect? I just went a few rounds with a demon. Just do the damn exorcism,” John said clutching his side.

Before the pastor even got a chance to speak the large bookshelf came crashing onto him as the demon tried to stop him from performing the exorcisme. The pastor felt his right leg give a sickening snap and he groaned.

“You fucking bastard,” John hissed as he went to help his friend. “You ok? Can you finish the exorcism?”

“Yeah,” the pastor grimaced as a sheet of sweat appeared on his face. “I can finish, I just—John look out!”

John didn’t even get a chance to turn around when the large glass coffee table had come over the elder Winchester and slammed him into the wall as the individual shards broke on impact embedding themselves into his face. John slumped to the floor unconscious as crimson liquid formed a puddle beneath him.

Seeing no other option, Jim began reciting the exorcism anyway. The faster he could get this over with the faster he could get John to a hospital.

            “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,” Jim cried. The demon began to shake violently and it sank to its knees. “omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis congregato et secta diabolica.” The demon panted harder as it tried to stand up again. “Ergo, draco maledicte. Eclesiam taum secure tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

            The girl’s mouth became animated with a loud scream as a cloud of black smoke was spewed into the ground. The girl the demon had been possessing, slumped back and hit the floor with a deafening thud. 

            Jim turned his attention towards his friend. He appeared to be breathing, but he did have a large cut running across his forehead, as well as several minor cuts on the rest of his body. The pastor tried to move, but gasped in pain as the burning sensation of his leg moved through the rest of his body. There was no way of getting out.

            Pulling out a large mobile phone, Jim dialed a number. After three rings a sleepy voice answered, “Hullo?”

            “Dean, it’s me, Jim Murphy. I need you to come down here.”

            With his dad gone, Dean had nothing to do but laze around with Sammy. They had both played with the remote control car for hours outside before they finally got tired.

            Sam had sat on the steps of the church with his head in his hands as he looked at the stars. “So dad was hunting a demon?”

            “Yeah, that’s what he said,” Dean said sitting down next to his brother. It was beginning to get cold and he could feel the warmth radiating from Sam’s body.

            “And demons go to hell?” Sam asked.

            “I guess so,” Dean replied wondering where this was going.

            “Well… if there’s a hell there should be a heaven right?” Sam asked mostly to himself.

            Dean stared at his brother. What was he supposed to do? Tell him he thought any sort of paradise was a fairy tale? “I dunno, Sammy.”

            “I mean, it makes sense. You can’t have evil without good… so you shouldn’t have hell without heaven,” Sam said trying to convince himself of his theory. “You know?”

            “Mmm,” Dean muttered noncommittally. Mom had always been someone who saw the good in the world, and look where that had gotten her.

            “Well, what do you think, Dean?” Sam asked directly questioning him.

            “I, uh, I’ve never given it much thought. Live in the moment, that’s what I always say,” Dean deflected.

            “But what do you think right now that you’ve had time to think for a second?” Sam persisted.

            Dean felt like he was being cross-examined. “I just want to focus on how things are right now. I’m not into all that philosophical thinking and shit.”

            “You’re not really into thinking at all,” Sam huffed in annoyance as Dean dodged his question again.

            “Low blow little brother,” Dean replied airily. “Did you know when you were a baby I hated you?”

            Intrigued Sam dropped the conversation. “Really? Why?”

            “Well, dad had promised me a dog, but I got you instead,” Dean smirked. “You came home from the hospital and you would not stop crying. I had to hold two pillows to my head to even try and sleep. You sat around all day not doing much except eating, sleeping, and pooping and the first time I tried to hold you, you puked on me!”

            Sam laughed. “Survival of the fittest.”

            “Yeah, real funny. I wouldn’t go near Gerber after that.”

            “When did you start liking me?”

            “Who says I ever did?”

            Sam gave Dean a good kick in the shin. “Ow! You little bitch. I tolerated your presence after mom explained that I had to be nice because you were little and you’d need me.”

            Sam yearned for more details about the mystery woman they called ‘mom,’ but he could see Dean shutting down again, so he kept his mouth shut and the two of them sat in silence and stared at the night sky.

            After half an hour Dean got up. “I’m beat, let’s go to bed.”

            Sam hadn’t realized how tired he was until he got up and followed Dean back inside to the room they were staying in. The moment his head hit the pillow he was out like a light. Dean wasn’t up for too much longer after that.

            At 3:30 in the morning Dean heard a shrill sound coming from the living room. “Shut up,” he groaned as he willed the phone to stop ringing. Suddenly Dean remembered where they were and who would be calling at that time of night. He hopped out of bed and bounded down the steps two at a time nearly falling at the last one.

            “Hullo?” he answered trying to keep his voice from sounding thick with sleep.

            “Dean, it’s me, Jim Murphy. I need you to come down here,” he heard the pastor pant.

            “Come down where? Pastor Jim what the hell is going on?” Dean asked panicking.

            “Nothing major, but I have a busted leg, and your dad’s gonna need a few stitches. He took a blow to the head and probably has a concussion,” Jim responded. His voice sounded strained. “Can you drive here?”

            Dean swallowed, but his mouth had gone dry. “I—yes. Yeah, I’ll be there in 30.” Hanging up the phone, Dean’s breathing sped up and was far too shallow to be of any good to him. His palms were sweating and he was now expected to drive the car without any real experience because something really bad must’ve happened because Pastor Jim never would’ve called him otherwise. He whirled around and noticed Sam had walked into the room, his eyes wide with fear.

            “Dean, is dad—is he…”Sam’s scared voice caught on the final word.

            “No! No, he’s not,” Dean said firmly. Immediately his breathing calmed down. _Can’t be scared, gotta be strong for Sammy_. “We gotta go though. Get in the Impala.”

            “Are you driving us?” Sam asked shocked.

            “Do you see anyone else here, genius? C’mon let’s go, it’ll be okay.”

            Sam and Dean made their way to the Impala and Dean slid into the driver’s seat. It was sink or swim… and he didn’t have the luxury to sink. “Okay, reverse,” Dean muttered to himself.

            The Impala pulled into the street and Dean shifted the car into drive. He pushed down on the gas with a little too much force, but he didn’t even notice. _Gotta get to dad._ The black car blended in with the night sky, and the only noise was the growl of the engine.

            “You’re doing good, dean,” Sam commented after a while.

            “You sound surprised,” Dean said trying to sound nonchalant. The truth was he was gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were white and he felt like throwing up, but hey, Sammy thought he was fine.

            “Earlier you were a little more… unpredictable,” Sam told him choosing his words carefully.

            Dean snorted. “Yeah earlier we were fucking around.” Dean pressed on the gas some more, and the Impala responded to his command and sped up down I-90. It seemed like it had been centuries since pastor Jim’s phone call when Dean pulled in front of the house. Dean threw the Impala’s door open and ran for the house like a madman. “Dad! Pastor Jim! Dad!”

            “Over here, Dean,” he heard a voice call. Pastor Jim was standing on one leg clutching a wooden shelf. John was sitting in the corner, but had regained consciousness at some point after Dean had hung up the phone. Off to the side was a lifeless girl on the floor with her back contorted into a crooked angle.

            “Oh my god, dad!” Dean rushed over to his father. He would looked anywhere but the broken girl in the room. “Dad, hey, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

            “’M fine, Dean. Jus’ get me to the car,” John groaned as he tried to cover his eyes. The light from the living room was too bright and it was giving him a migraine.

            “Alright c’mon dad, up you go,” Dean said pulling his father up. “Help me, Sammy.”

            Sam rushed over, and with Dean’s help, the two boys allowed their father to lean heavily on them.

            ‘We’ll help you next, Pastor Jim,” Dean called over his shoulder. Slowly, Dean and Sam helped their father out of the house. Every step was agony because little red droplets would land at the ground creating a trail. “Okay, dad. Here we are. Just take it easy,” Dean told him as he eased him into the backseat of the Impala. “I’m gonna get Pastor Jim now. Sammy stay with dad, get him water.” Sam nodded and began opening a water bottle.

            Dean walked back into the house eager to help Pastor Jim and never step foot in it again. “C’mon Pastor Jim, it’s like hopscotch.”

            “I always hated that game,” Jim chuckled as he allowed Dean to help him to the car. ‘The nearest hospital is 10 minutes into town, take us there.”

            Dean nodded and opened the door as Jim fell into the backseat unceremoniously. “Alright, let’s do this.”

            Dean turned the key in the ignition and felt the familiar vibration as the Impala roared to life. It was quickly becoming easier to trust the car. “Buckle up, everybody,” Dean said as he pulled out and made his way down the road.

            After several hours at the ER, John had been stitched up and had his ribs bandaged. The pain in his head would eventually go away on its own since there wasn’t a way to treat a concussion other than rest.

            Pastor Jim had a neon orange cast on his right leg despite his feeble “no, please, white is a better color.” Sam had wasted no time in acquiring a sharpie to write his name on it. Dean had drawn a small car by the ankle, way more badass.

            “Let’s go,” John said as he waited in the empty hallway for Pastor Jim.

            “Alright,” Dean told him. “I’m glad you’re okay, dad. Whatever was in there… it looked bad.”

            John sighed as he thought of the girl the demon had been possessing. God knows how long it had been in her. “Yeah, but we made it. We always do. You driving?”

            Dean grinned. “Of course I’m driving, you’re incapacitated.”

            “Well I’m glad you got the hang of it, smart ass,” John told him.

            “Yeah, I guess it was easy when it mattered, you know?” Dean asked.

            “You did great, Dean,” Pastor Jim said making his way towards them on crutches with Sam at his side. “Don’t let your old man tell you otherwise.”

            “Yeah, sure,” John said wincing in pain as he walked. “Next time you play bait, Murphy.”

            John noticed on the drive back to Jim’s that Dean really was a natural. He had gotten used to the fast pick up and had now had a much better handle on speed control. However, most of the journey John was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay close attention to his son’s driving. The demon had known him for some reason. Was it really because he had a good reputation as a hunter? Sure other hunters knew and respected him, but a monster? Could the demon have known what had happen to his family through hearsay? Or was it something else? John closed his eyes as the lights of the road threatened to overwhelm him. He had no idea, and a part of him didn’t want to know. He clenched his jaw tightly, and rubbed his eyes. Life wasn’t that clear-cut anymore. There had to be something going on. He’d find out eventually, but for now he listened to the growl of the Impala on the highway. 


	13. Chapter 13: Soccer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. College basically sucked away all my time. Anyway, this chapter has mild spoilers for 9x07, so if you haven't seen that, don't read until you have! As always, I don't own the characters, I just wish I did so I could pay off student loans. Please read/review and let me know what you think!

**Chapter 13: Soccer**

 

            Winchesters didn’t feel fear, and emotions were overrated. Any semblance to being scared was passed off with a cocky grin, a smartass pop culture reference, or a roll of the eyes. Winchesters could feel excitement, elation, and even all sorts of pissed off, but they never felt fear.

            Because of this, Sam Winchester tried to steady his breathing and quell the urge to bolt. The humid Florida air did nothing to help; he was sticky and sweating profusely as he crouched behind some trees by the edge of a lake trying to avoid getting eaten by mosquitoes—or worse.

            Sam unconsciously moved to run his hand through his hair again, when someone slapped it away. “Dammit, Sammy, just stop!” a voice hissed.

            Squinting, Sam could make out his brother’s figure, illuminated by the pale moonlight. He too, was crouched by the trees awaiting their father’s signal.

            “If you keep moving around like that you’re going to give us away and the whole hunt will be a bust,” Dean whispered. “Now stop moving, or I’ll sit on you.”

            Dean couldn’t see it, but Sam threw him the classic _Sam_ glare that he saved specifically for him. “You’re not my boss,” he mumbled. Ever since Dean had gone on that 2 month long hunt that he had gotten lost on, he acted _different._ Sam had been at Bobby’s for the time, but when he next saw his brother Dean was walking along a dusty road with a house in the back. Sam had asked over and over what had happened, but Dean had pushed him away with “nothing, I got lost on a hunt and dad had to find me.” Bullshit. Whenever Sam pressed for details on the nature of the hunt Dean had scowled at him and told him it was a ghost hunt gone wrong. Sam learned quickly to let the matter drop since Dean became sullen and reserved at the mention of it. He was still _Dean_ to him, but whenever they went out on hunts or trained he’d get a steely look in his eyes, as if hunting was the only thing in the world. It was downright scary.

            However, his brother’s shift in attitude wasn’t what had Sam worried. What really concerned him was being stationed by a lake with a werewolf running around. Sam hadn’t been on very many hunts, and the ones he had been on were what Dean called “D-list” jobs. From what Sam knew, it could get intense, but all he’d ever experienced was the simple salt n’ burn, and even then he just watched his dad or Dean do all the work.

            “Listen,” Dean hissed. A soft rustling was coming from the trees ahead of them. Sam’s body tensed up as he clutched the sawed-off, his index finger itching to pull the trigger.

            “Sammy, no!” Dean said moving over slightly so he was in front of Sam. “If you shoot now and it isn’t the werewolf you’ll give our location away and dad’ll be pissed.”

            Sam yanked the sawed-off from Dean’s reach. “I’m not shooting anything,” he replied acidly. “And it’s _Sam._ ”

            Dean tried not to flinch at the way Sam had reacted. _He’s just scared. He doesn’t mean to be a brat._ “Whatever, dude.”

            The rustling began again, and this time Dean braced himself, gun in hand loaded with silver bullets. A figure loomed in the shadows, coming closer to them, and Dean kept his finger on the trigger, forcing himself to shut any emotion out and focus on the task at hand. He was about to pull the trigger when John Winchester came into focus.

            “Dad! You scared the crap outta me,” Dean told him.

            “If you and Sam would shut up for 30 seconds you would’ve heard me,” John whispered angrily. “I told you, you had to be quiet, and here you are yapping away. When I give you an order, you listen, or were you trying to get yourself killed?”

            If there had been more light out, his family would’ve seen Dean go a vivid shade of pink. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

            “And you,” John said rounding on Sam. “You’re too trigger happy. You’re letting yourself get reckless and you’re acting like a child.”

            Sam’s anger flared up and he tried to make himself as tall as possible. “I’m twelve, _sir._ Being a _child_ makes sense, since that’s what I am. I’m so much of a _child_ that I didn’t even want to come,” he said in a tone of mock sincerity.

            In a deadly voice John leaned down to look his youngest in the eyes. “Go get in the car. _Now.”_

            Sam didn’t back away from his dad, even though every part of him wanted to. “Of course, _sir._ ” Throwing his dad and silent brother a wuthering look Sam made his way to the Impala. He was going to get an earful later about being insolent, disobedient, and disrespectful…. He groaned. It was always his fault. It was his fault they were being loud, his fault it was a difficult hunt, and it was probably his fault it was humid out. Sam curled up in the backseat and pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in them. He was angry, but couldn’t do anything to fix his situation.

            Dean watched his brother’s figure retreat towards the opening of the woods. Sammy was so goddam stubborn. Always had to have the last word. Sighing, Dean asked his father, “Where is it now?”

            John surveyed the area quickly. “Close by. It knows we’re here.”

            “What do we do?” Dean asked his dad with undivided attention.

            “I’m thinking we should split up. It’ll come after one of us, and the other can come in as backup. It’s never gonna attack two people at once, so we’ve got to lure it away. You go west, and I’ll stay behind you,” John explained mapping out the plan in his mind. He didn’t like it, but splitting up would be the only way the werewolf would come out.

            “Yes, sir.”

            John observed Dean; Dean showed no signs of disobedience and always did as he was told. He was dependable. After the whole boys home fiasco, Dean had seemed to come back into the hunt with renewed vigor, and a thirst for the job John had never seen in him before. Sam, on the other hand was a loose canon. He never did as he was told and he was determined to have the last word. With Sam, you never knew if he’d come through on the job. Sure, the kid was a great shot and incredible with knives, but his heart wasn’t in it. He just didn’t seem to _care._ The apathy was worse than anything else.

            “Shoot straight, Dean,” John finally told his eldest.

            With a nod, John watched Dean’s figure become consumed by the forest.

            Dean made his way into the forest, completely void of all emotion. What was the point in feeling ashamed? It had become second nature by now. Sam had somehow decided Dean was on his dad’s side, and John was probably disappointed because he couldn’t follow a simple order of ‘be quiet.’

            Swallowing, Dean walked for 10 minutes until he deemed it far away enough to force the werewolf to choose, but close enough to assist his dad. He leaned against a tree and breathed in the damp air. His t-shirt had become one with his skin, thick beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Dean swatted a mosquito away from his face, the pale moonlight casting a blue glow around the forest. A rustling noise had Dean immediately on edge, gun cocked.

            He surveyed the area, and the only noise he could hear was the chirping of crickets. Then he spotted it, crouched in the shadows, a figure was waiting.

            As the werewolf pounced, Dean sent three silver bullets straight into its chest. The werewolf had a stunned look on its face as its body stopped mid-run and fell to the floor.

            Dean could feel his chest rise and fall, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. A hand clasped his shoulder approvingly as his dad made his way to look at the body.

            “Nice shot,” John told him as he rolled the body over. The werewolf had begun to turn back into a person.

            The body didn’t even faze Dean. “Thanks, dad.”

            “Help me get some wood and start a fire. It’s the quickest way to get rid of the body.” John took out a large hunting knife from his jacket and began hacking off low hanging branches.

            Dean followed suit, and 25 minutes later they had a sizable fire going over the corpse. Dean stared at the orange flames that consumed the body he’d just put there. Kids at 16 were worried about things like pimples or prom dates. After missing the dance he was supposed to take Robin to, he gave up on that idea. That wasn’t his life, and it’d been stupid to think it was. Here he was, seeing this people couldn’t even imagine. This is what he was good at. This is where his place was: hunting alongside his dad and prepubescent pain-in-the-ass little brother. No doubt about it.

_Two Weeks Later_

“Winchester, get over here and show Tyler how to do a damn corner kick!” a gruff voice barked.

            Sam jogged over to the corner of the soccer field and set himself up a few feet away to get a running start. He lifted his arm in the air as a signal that he’d kick and allowed himself to stop thinking for a few seconds. Sam’s kick had a wonderful arc that landed in the center of the 18-yard box and one of his teammates easily headed the ball in over the goalie’s outstretched fingertips.

            Coach Daley smiled in approval and clapped Sam on the back. “Now that is exactly why we’re going to win the championship game this weekend! All of you take a cool-down lap and bring it in.”

Sam smiled to himself. It wasn’t often he was praised, the feeling made him feel warm inside. He jogged with the rest of the soccer team feeling genuinely good. He hated training with his dad, but for some reason, soccer was different. Maybe it was the whole team aspect of it; he wasn’t constantly getting singled out because he was a failure. Sure, the team screwed up sometimes, but they went down _together._ It wasn’t always _Sam, why can’t you follow a goddam order_ or _Why can’t you be like Dean._ Instead, the camaraderie made any berating from his coach light years better than being home. He still got exercise and speed training, so his dad wasn’t opposed to him being on the team. Plus, it was a school team, and his dad had let him stay after school to practice. If anything, it caused them to fight _less_ since they didn’t see each other as much.

After the werewolf hunt, you would’ve thought a nuclear warhead had gone off after Sam and his dad were finished. Shouting, throwing things (admittedly this was mostly Sam), and slammed doors were aplenty. Dean had just stood there staring at the floor, occasionally telling them to cut it out. Sam sighed as he stopped running and bent down to stretch. It didn’t matter. This sport was _his._

“As you all know,” Coach Daley began, “the championship game is this weekend. This school hasn’t won a championship in 8 years. Now, I would love to be a good coach and say it doesn’t matter as long as you all try hard, but I’m not gonna do that. To be honest, you need to win so the school can continue the program. With recent budget cuts the school is now debating whether they need a team or not. So, this Saturday, be here at 8 am sharp, rested and ready to go. Understood?”

A collective “Yes coach” was mumbled and the boys made their way to their respective cars.

“Winchester!” his coach called. C’mere a moment.”

Sam trudged over wondering if he was going to get yelled at. He hadn’t done anything, but in his experience, being asked to stay behind was never a good thing. “Yes coach?”

“I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am you joined the team. I know you started late, and it took a bit to get you to come out of your shell, but kid, you’re a natural. You have real potential, and when you reach high school you could play competitively,” Coach Daley told him sincerely.

Sam struggled to find his voice. “I—ah—just wow. Thanks, coach.” Competitive soccer? He doubted his dad would ever let that happen. ‘ _It’s too much of a commitment,’_ Sam thought bitterly. Still, it had been nice his coach thought he was good enough.

“No problem. You’re a good kid, Winchester. Now go home and rest up for this weekend. It’s an order,” the coach said with a wink.

The familiar phrase sounded so foreign to Sam. How could the same phrase sound so different coming from his dad? “Yes, coach.” Sam made his way to the edge of the field where Dean sat in the driver seat of the Impala. Two months ago, dad had begun to let Dean occasionally borrow it when Sam needed to be picked up. Needless to say, Dean was insufferable. He drove too fast, listened to the music turned up at full blast, and Sam often caught him stroking the dashboard and whispering to it.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greeted getting into the car. “You been waiting here the whole time?”

“Whoa! Sammy, you’ve got grass all over the inside of my baby!” Dean complained as he tried to brush the grass out of the car.

“Dean, that’s honestly kinda creepy. It’s a car. It’s meant to drive, not be your friend,” Sam said rolling his eyes.

“Plus you stink. It smells like something died on you,” Dean winced as he rolled down the windows, clearly not paying any attention to Sam. “You’re gonna make baby smell bad.”

“Whatever, Dean.” Sam took off his cleats and gave a sigh of relief. Cleats weren’t comfortable despite what the salesperson had told him.

Dean turned on the car and “Born to be Wild” blasted out of the car at full volume. Dean floored it and the car tore down the street to the 5-minute ride to the motel down the road.

“Dean!” Sam shouted covering his ears. “Turn it down!”

“What? Can’t hear you over the music!” Dean winked.

“Dammit!” Sam growled turning down the music.

“Look, captain buzzkill said a bad word,” Dean scowled.

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled.

“What’s your problem, geek boy? Bad practice?”

“No, great practice, actually. The championship game is this weekend.”

“Then why are you acting like such a bitch?” Dean asked turning into the motel parking lot.

“The coach thinks I have potential to play on a high school team later on,” Sam muttered. “And you’re a jerk.”

“Sports in high school? That’s a good thing, Sammy,” Dean said confused.

“Yeah, but do you think it’s ever gonna happen?” Sam said bitterly. “You think dad’s ever gonna be in one place long enough for the commitment?”

Dean wished he could say something to make his little brother happy again, or put his arm around him and read him stories until he cheered up. He wished he could tell him he’d always be there, but that was such a chick flick moment, and Dean Winchester didn’t do chick flick. Ever. Instead, he resigned himself to answer honestly. “No, Sammy, I don’t,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t play here and there for fun.”

“It’s not the same,” Sam said quietly.

“I know,” Dean sighed. “Let’s go inside. I’m starving.”

The two boys got out of the car and entered the small space. The small living room that doubled as their father’s study and bedroom was in disarray as papers were tacked all over the wall. Sam crossed the mess to enter the small, slightly claustrophobic room he and Dean shared and dumped his schoolbag on his bed.

“Boys, come in here,” John called.

Sam willed his patience to last, and he made his way into the room. “What’s up dad?”

“I’ve found something in this town here,” John pointed to small dot on a map. “It’s a city about 2 and a half hours away from here.”

“What is it?” Dean asked immediately giving his full attention.

“I think it’s a shape shifter,” John explained. “People of all sorts began committing what seemed to be small crimes. A robbery here, a carjacking there. However, things escalated and a bank was robbed resulting in one casualty. The problem? The perpetrators swear that they were in a different place at that time.”

“Oh,” Dean said clicking the pieces together, “when are we leaving?”

“We can’t leave!” Sam blurted out.

“And why the hell not?” John asked trying to keep his anger in check. He hadn’t forgotten how Sam had behaved on the last hunt.

“Because…because I have a championship soccer game this Saturday,” Sam mumbled suddenly very interested in his fingernails.

“You’re not going on the hunt, I am,” John told him. He was met with a groan from Dean and a whoop from Sam. “Neither of you are going on the hunt, but you are both staying in this weekend, match or not.”

Both boys pulled twin looks of horror. Sam was the first to argue, though. “Dad! Please,” Sam choked on the word. “I need to be there, the team needs me!”

“No. This shape shifter could’ve left town by now and moved onto fresh pickings here. There’s no way to tell who’s who. Besides, do you honestly think you deserve to be rewarded for throwing a temper tantrum like a toddler in the middle of a hunt? Both of you will stay here,” John said forcefully.

“Dad—I,” Dean began.

“That’s an order,” John glared.

“Yes sir,” Dean mumbled stepping back.

“Dean! Are you kidding? This might be the last time I get to play, please tell dad we’ll be okay for two hours!” Sam cried.

Dean shuffled his feet and felt a red tinge creep into his face, but he stayed silent nonetheless.

“You’re pathetic,” Sam spat. “Why do you have to take his side all the time? Just back me up for once in my goddam life!”

Dean didn’t even look up. He just kept staring at the floor. “If that’s what you think, Sammy, fine.”

“Samuel!” John shouted hoping the use of his son’s full name would shock him into stopping. “Watch your language, that’s enough. You will do as I say, and that’s final!”

“Why?” Sam sneered. “Is that an order?”

“You’re damn right it’s an order!” John roared. “I won’t have you talking back like this!”

“I just want two hours dad! Nothing more,” Sam yelled. “I just want two hours of normal!”

“Normal isn’t real, Sam,” John scoffed. “The only thing that’s real is the death and chaos. It’s about time you stopped kidding yourself, and just grow up!”

“I HATE YOU!” Sam screamed throwing his dad’s papers and chucking a book at a wall as he stormed into his room and slammed the door.

John stared at the door, completely unmoved. Since when had this ceased to bother him? He was used to Sam’s volatile moods. One moment he’d be fine doing his homework, the next world war three had begun. Deep down, Sam’s words stung. He really did just want to keep them safe, and while he was away he couldn’t risk anything happening to his kids. Why couldn’t Sam see that?

Dean finally spoke up. “Dad, can I take the Impala to grab burgers for dinner?”

John sighed and tossed his eldest the keys. “Be back in 30. If you’re even one minute over—“

“I’ll never drive again. Gotcha,” Dean finished in a monotone voice, already making his way to the door.

            Dean made his way home in 27 minutes, a new personal best. He handed his dad a hamburger without failing to notice the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table. Still… Dean figured he’d rather deal with his dad than hurricane Sammy.

            Sighing, Dean entered the room he and Sam shared. Sam was slumped on his bed with his head on his knees. “Sammy?” Dean asked tentatively.

            Sam didn’t answer him, but had enough motivation to shoot him a glare.

            “I got food,” Dean tried again shaking the paper bag he was holding.

            Sam turned away from his brother. “Not hungry.”

            Dean cautiously sat on Sam’s bed. “I got you a chicken sandwich. You like girly food, right?” he teased.

            “Just leave me alone, Dean,” Sam said in a voice dangerously close to a whine. Sam was still angry, so angry that he could feel his blood boiling…but he was also ashamed. Not that he’d kicked things and thrown books; he wanted his dad to feel as angry as he was. No, Sam was ashamed by what he’d said to Dean. It wasn’t really Dean’s fault he was upset, but Dean had been an easy target. Sam winced. God he’d screwed this up. Dean was still being nice to him and trying to cheer him up. _Why would anyone try and cheer me up?_ Sam wondered. _Especially after I was a total asshole._

“Fine,” Dean nodded getting up to leave.

            “No! Dean, it’s okay,” Sam said hastily. “I’m a little hungry.” Dean handed his brother the wrapped chicken sandwich without much expression. “I—ah, I’m sorry,” Sam whispered.

            “It’s no biggie, I know the game was important to you,” Dean said shrugging off Sam’s attempt to apologize.

            “No, Dean. Listen to me. I’m really sorry,” Sam insisted mortified. “I said some stupid things…”

            “You always say stupid things,” Dean smirked.

            _Classic Dean. Moment ruined._ “Whatever, jerk.” Quietly Sam sighed, “Doesn’t mean what I said wasn’t messed up. I know you’re always there for me.”

            “Then stop bringing it up,” Dean snapped, his patience wearing thin. “You said something shitty, we all do it. Stop apologizing.” Dean swallowed his annoyance. A part of him wondered if that’s what Sam really thought. Anger could’ve made his true thoughts come to light… Dean ignored the thought. Sam was just angry with _dad._

            “Fine. Geez, I’m sor—“ Sam caught himself. “So, do you really think Han Solo is cooler than Luke Skywalker?”

            “Hell yeah!” Dean exclaimed enthusiastically. “He kicks ass, gets the girl, and is an awesome shot!”

            “Yeah, but he’s also drowning in debt,” Sam pointed out.

            “Hey, that’s respectable. Most people are drowning in debt. Why are you so into Luke Skywalker? He’s kind of a wimp.”

            “Because he’s more goal-oriented,” Sam explained, “he makes plans and sticks to them in a really logical manner.”

            “So… he’s a wimp and a nerd?” Dean inquired earning him a pillow in the face.

Friday night came around faster than Sam had expected. He hadn’t even noticed it was Friday until he saw his dad cleaning guns to pack them. There was a knot in Sam’s stomach that made his heart flutter every time he thought about what he was planning on doing. There was no way in hell he was going to miss the last game. His dad wouldn’t be here, and he could give Dean the slip. He’d be back in 2 ½ hours. Simple. Still…the small adrenaline rush that coursed through his body could only be what was sacrilege in the Winchester army: _rebellion._

            “What time are you leaving tonight, dad?” Dean asked coming in with a box of pizza. “It’s getting dark outside.”

            “I’ll be gone after I’m done eating,” John told him grabbing a slice of pizza. “Now while I’m gone, I expect you both—“

            “To stare at a wall and wait for orders,” Sam muttered under his breath.

            John continued, pretending not to hear his youngest son. Best not to start WW III before leaving. “I expect you both to stay here. If you need something, call Bobby or Pastor Jim. If you want food, you can walk down to the burger joint a block away, anything else is off limits. Understood?”

            “Yes sir,” Dean said diligently.

            Sam grunted, and John took that as a sign that he had heard him. “I’m gonna head out, you boys behave.”

            “Bye, dad. We’ll be here, call if you need anything,” Dean smiled. John squeezed his shoulder.

            “Bye dad,” Sam grumbled. It just wasn’t right to not say goodbye. For all he knew it could be the last time he did.

            “See you, Sammy,” John said with a small smile. “I’ll see you both Sunday night.”

            As John Winchester’s tall figure left the motel room, Sam breathed out a small sigh of relief. The tension from that week seemed to evaporate a bit when his dad was no longer there.

            Dean on the other hand was trying his best to keep a pout off his face. He _wanted_ to go on the hunt. Instead he just flopped onto the couch that had doubled as his father’s bed and turned on the TV. “Wanna have a _Star Wars_ marathon, Luke?”

            “Shut up,” Sam said with a smile.

            Sam awoke the next morning at 7 am. He didn’t have to be at the field until 8:30, but he needed to get out without waking Dean up. Dean was usually a light sleeper, but having gone to bed at 4:30 marathon-ing _Star Wars_ , Sam hoped he’d be tired enough to ignore any noise he might make. Sitting up cautiously, the youngest Winchester made sure to step slowly and avoid the creaking portions of the floor. He pulled his soccer bag from under his bed that he’d prepared. Every step was agony; it was like walking on eggshells. Sam could hear his breath, was he actually breathing that loud? At the door, Sam looked back and heard the soft snores of his brother. He quietly slipped out and exhaled, his heart pounding. He stuck around for 3 minutes, in case Dean woke up and came looking for him. Seeing that his brother wasn’t coming, Sam began the 20 minute trek uphill to his school.

            Dean could sense the morning light coming in through the window. He groaned loudly and pulled the blankets over his face. The darkness was nice and inviting. A shrill sound interrupted his peace, and without opening his eyes he reached over and picked up the motel phone that was on the bedside table.

            “Hullo?” he mumbled sleepily.

            _“Dean? You awake?”_ a gruff voice asked.

            Dean’s eyes snapped open. “Wha—yeah, I’m up,” he said struggling to keep the sleep out of his voice. “What’s going on with the hunt dad?”

            Dean allowed his vision to wander over lazily to Sam’s bed. There was a rumpled ball in the middle. It was funny because Sam usually woke up first. ‘ _The little geek must’ve been tired,’_ Dean thought affectionately.

            _“Everything went well. I got here around 11 last night, and tracked the thing down by 2 this morning.”_

“Wow, dad,” Dean said stifling a yawn as he stood up to stretch. “That’s gotta be a new record for you.”

            _“Something like that. Anyway, I’m heading out now, I should be there in 2 hours if I go now.”_

“Alright, sounds good. It’s only 8:30, you sure you’re up for a drive after not sleeping at all last night?” Dean asked glancing at his watch.

            _“Yeah, I’d rather just crash where all our stuff is. How’s Sam? Is he still throwing a temper tantrum?”_

“Nah,” Dean assured his father. “He was fine yesterday. Let me get him to say hi.” Dean walked over and gently poked the lump. It was soft. _Too soft._ In a panic, Dean ripped off the covers to find several pillows arranged in the shape of a person with a piece of paper from the motel’s notepad that read “ _At a soccer game. Hopefully you aren’t awake, but if you are don’t freak out. I’m fine. Sam.”_  Dean could feel his heart racing and the blood pounding in his ears. Shit. Shit. Shit.

            _“Dean? Is everything ok? Where’s Sam?”_

John’s voice startled Dean, having temporarily forgotten he was still on the phone. “Sam? Oh he’s fine. He’s in the shower,” Dean lied smoothly. His dad somehow always knew, but he was hoping that he wouldn’t be able to tell by just hearing his voice. “He’s gonna be a while, you know how that kid is with his hair.”

            There was a pause on the other end. _“Okay. I’ll see both of you in 2.”_

“Yup. Bye, dad,” Dean hung up the phone. He was going to kill Sam, and then dad was going to kill him. “Dammit!” Dean pulled on a pair of jeans and some shoes and ran out the door to get his pain in the ass little brother back.

            Sam was running, and not at full speed, yet he easily outran most of the other forwards on the team. He supposed it was his dad’s training and he grudgingly had to admit that without it, he wouldn’t be nearly as good at the sport. 25 minutes into the game, and nobody had scored. Coach Daley was beginning to get restless. If they didn’t score they’d be going into overtime and then penalty kicks, and that was the last thing anybody wanted to do.

            “Move down!” a defender shouted, and Sam raced towards the opposite goal. The ball landed gracefully at his feet and Sam ran with it, knowing it could be his chance to get the easy breakaway. He easily veered past the midfielders, and faked a move around the left hand defender. The keeper was alone and all he had to do was make it. Sam looked up for a split second to gauge his placement of the ball when he nearly stopped in his tracks. Dean was standing on the sideline looking incredibly angry. Flustered, Sam took the shot, only to have the ball soar over the goal post completely missing his mark.

            “Winchester! What the hell was that?” His coach shouted from the sideline. “You had a clean breakaway!”

            “Sorry,” Sam called. “Stomach cramps. Can I come out for a minute? Just one minute, please.”

            Coach Daley’s eyes widened. Not once had Sam ever complained of anything. Without Sam, the team had a slim chance of winning the game. “Fine, one minute. Lark, sub in for Winchester. Now!”

            Sam ran off the field, as a lanky boy switched places with him. “Sorry coach, I’ll be back in a moment. Just need to go to the bathroom.”

            Sam made his way to the end of the field where Dean was standing with his arms crossed looking like a mother bear who’s cub had been stolen. “Dean, I can explain,” Sam spluttered.

            “You’re damn right you can,” Dean hissed. “Here I am, worried that you got yourself killed…”

            “I left a note,” Sam explained.

            “Yeah, I got the freakin’ note,” Dean said acidly. “Very helpful. But we need to go. Now.”

            “No!” Sam stepped away from him.

            “Dad’s coming back right now and he’s gonna be pissed if he finds we’re not there. I’ll kill you, and then dad will kill me, and in the end we’ll be ghosts because of your stupid game.”

            Sam paled. He knew his dad would be furious, but it wasn’t enough to make him want to leave. “Dean, please,” he pleaded. “It’s the championship game. If I leave, we’ll lose for sure.”

            “Yeah, I saw that awesome shot you took,” Dean said sarcastically. “Great aim.”

            “You’re a jerk, Dean,” Sam said with embarrassment. “You startled me. I usually make them.”

            “So this is all my fault?” Dean inquired.

            “Yes! I mean, no. Just stop. Please, Dean. I’ll tell dad it was me, but I need to stay,” Sam tried again.

            Dammit, Sammy. You know he won’t care who it was, we’ll both end up getting our asses kicked,” Dean said sighing in frustration. Why didn’t Sam understand?

            Sam just stared up at his brother. He knew Dean was right, but he just didn’t _care._ “Please.”

            Dean tried his best to continue to glare at his brother, but Sam looked so desperate. “I—“ Dean was beginning to lose his nerve. _Dammit._ “I—God you’re a little bitch. You owe me for this.”

            Sam’s eyes lit up as he gave Dean a rushed hug. “Thanks, Dean!”

            Sam jogged back to his coach as Dean brushed the grass off of his shirt where Sam had hugged him. “Let’s get this shit-show on the road.”

            Dean walked over to where Sam’s coach was and gingerly took a seat in the moist grass. Might as well, since he was gonna be here for another hour _at least_. He watched Sam run back onto the field and take his position as a forward again.

            Dean watched intently, noticing Sam was quite good. He had great ball control, and he was faster than anybody on the field. The game continued for another hour, only to be tied, and both sides were getting antsy. With three minutes left on the clock, whoever scored a goal now would determine the winner of the game.

            Sam had gotten the ball, and was sprinting for his life. He easily passed the halfway mark on the field and was now inside the 30-yard box. With some quick skills, he managed to kick the ball through one of the defender’s legs and sprint past him. “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean muttered in anticipation. Sam was only about 9 yards away now. Sam moved to take the kick when a blue uniform collided with him and he was knocked flat onto his back.

            Dean immediately stood up. He was going to kick that kid’s ass for doing that to Sam.

            “Sorry, ref. Didn’t see him,” the boy apologized.

            “Like hell you didn’t,” Dean shouted.

            The ref slowly pulled out a yellow card and held it in the air. This erupted in a cheer from Sam’s team, but Dean didn’t understand what was happening all that well. All he knew was that Sam was still on the ground struggling to breathe after having the wind knocked out of him.

            The ref held his hand out, and helped pull Sam to his feet. “You okay, kid?”

            “I’m fine,” he gasped. “It’s a PK, right?”

            The ref nodded. “Penalty kick!”

            “Winchester, take the kick!” Coach Daley shouted sounding near a nervous breakdown.

            The ref positioned the ball on the mark directly in front of the goal. “On my whistle.”

            Sam swallowed and positioned himself at the mark. His entire body felt tense and he was sure he was going to throw up. If he made the shot, they’d win the game. If he didn’t…he grimaced. Best not to think about that. He took a deep breath and blocked everybody out. No person or noise could break his concentration. He stepped back waiting the Referee’s whistle.

            Dean found himself pacing as he waited for Sam to take the shot. The kid would beat himself up for this if he missed it.

            The ref’s whistle pierced the palpable silence and Sam took a few steps and kicked the ball hard and gracefully into the upper corner of the goal right above the keeper’s outstretched hands. Sam didn’t even realize what was happening when a hoard of people ran onto the field and lifted him up. It was only then, that he realized he’d made the winning shot.

            Dean had been making his way through the throng of people only to bump into a familiar leather jacket. “Whoops, I’m sor—“ Dean froze. _Shit._

            “What the hell are you two doing here?” John asked in a voice that was deadly quiet.

            “Dad—I can explain,” Dean stuttered. “It was Sam’s last game. And…I mean, did you see that last kick he did? It was awesome.”         

            John didn’t look amused and Dean was sure the moment they weren’t in public he was going to rip him a new one.

            “Get in the car. Now.” John enunciated the last word and Dean escaped his father’s glare as he practically ran to the Impala.

            “Sam!” John barked. “We’re leaving.”

            Sam turned away from the crowd and blinked rapidly. Crap. Sam would have rather faced that werewolf than have to face his father.

            Before Sam got a chance to say anything, however, Coach Daley rushed forward and shook John’s hand. “Mr. Winchester! Glad you could make it to the final game. Quite an amazing goal from your son, don’t you think?”

            Flabbergasted, John shook the man’s hand. “Yes, incredible.”

            “You know,” Coach Daley continued clearly ignorant of John’s discomfort, “your son has great potential. He could play at a competitive level in high school, it could get him recruited for college.”

            John stopped shaking the coach’s hand and forced a smile. “That’s great. Look, I’ve gotta get going. I have plans.”

            “Oh I’m sure,” Coach Daley smiled. “You’re probably taking Sam out to dinner for such a great game.”

            “Of course,” John said through his teeth. “Let’s go, Sam.”

            “Wait,” Coach Daley said shoving a plastic trophy into John’s hands. “Sam’s championship trophy.”

            With one last glance at his coach, Sam ran to the Impala and climbed into the backseat. Sam exchanged a look with Dean that clearly said ‘ _We’re so screwed.’_

John climbed into the car clutching a trophy Coach Daley had forced into his hands. He put it on the floor and began driving back to the motel, not saying a word.

            When they pulled up to the motel parking lot, John growled, “Get out.”

            “Dad—“ Dean began tentatively.

            “Now.”

            The one syllable was enough to strike fear into both Sam and Dean’s very core and they exited the car and clamored into the motel room. Upon closing the door, they could hear the squeal of the Impala on the pavement, and they both knew their dad was looking for the nearest watering hole. It was what he did when things were just simply too much. Dean sighed as he flopped onto his bed.

            “We’re dead men walking.”

            “Yeah, no kidding,” Sam said leaning against the wall. He was scared, sure, but in all honesty the high he was riding was too great.

            “Dad’s gonna be so mad,” Dean murmured squeezing his eyes shut. “He’ll never let me drive the car again.”

            Despite himself, Sam laughed. “Really? That’s your biggest concern?”

            “Priorities, Sammy,” Dean said trying to push away the fact that he’d disobeyed a direct order.

            “Dean…” Sam said sitting at the foot of Dean’s bed. “Thanks.”

            Dean gave a noncommittal ‘mmm,’ and Sam knew he was probably freaking out inside.

            “It’ll be fine. Really. It’s not like dad hasn’t been angry before,” Sam pointed out.

            _‘Yeah, that’s true. But usually you’re the one arguing, not me,’_ Dean thought. What he said was, “Yeah, you’re right.”

            Sam smiled. There was something so familiar about the way he felt, that it took him a moment to realize he felt the same way he had when he played soccer with his team. Dean and he were a _team._ Sure, their team was small, but it was a strong one, better than any other team Sam had ever been on. “Seriously, Dean. I really appreciate it…I mean… I know you always look out for m—“

            “Ugh. If one more word comes out your sappy mouth I’m gonna vomit,” Dean groaned. “Take a shower, you smell like something died.

            Sam looked taken aback. The moment had been effectively neutralized. Sam: 0, Dean: 1. “Jerk.”

            Dean smirked. “Bitch.”

            John sat in the dingy bar as he downed his third shot. Sure, it was only noon, but it was 6 pm somewhere, right? He felt the familiar burn make its way down his throat and he closed his eyes. He was torn between wanting to yell and scream at his boys, and wanting to tell Sam he was impressed. Why did things have to be so difficult? Dean was far easier growing up; he followed orders and didn’t fight about every goddam thing. Sam, on the other hand, was stubborn as hell and wouldn’t do one simple thing without challenging orders. John smiled in spite of himself; he’d been told plenty of times he was a stubborn ass. It probably ran in the family.

            Then the stupid coach had gone on and said Sam had great potential to play on a competitive team in the future. How the hell could he think about years from now? He barely knew where they were going to be next week. There was just no way Sam could sustain that type of activity. John sighed, downing another shot. _Why can’t Sam play soccer? Because you keep moving your kids around and taking away any stability they have._ Parenting was so difficult. Mary had always been the one who knew what to do when it came to tough decisions. However, she wasn’t here, and that was the exact reason decisions had to be made in the first place.

            Slamming a wad of cash on the table, John left the bar and sat in the Impala. He wasn’t ready to go back yet. He still didn’t know what he was going to say to the boys. A gold glint caught his eye, and he picked up the plastic trophy that said ‘ _Florida District #12: Championship Team. 1995.’_ John felt the smooth plastic, and put the trophy in the glove compartment. Mary would’ve loved things like watching the boys play sports. John would keep it safe, for her. And for himself. It was a reminder of what could have been. 


	14. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more to say about this chapter, but I'll save the second A/N for the end. Sorry this post took so long! Real life got in the way, and that's never any fun. This chapter is longer, so hopefully that makes up for the lack of posting. Read and review please, and as always, I don't own any of the characters.

 

**Chapter 14: _Inferno_**

“Hey, Dean! Wanna see a card trick?” a boy asked jumping excitedly onto his brother’s bed waving a flurry of red cards at him.

Dean looked up from the gun he’d been cleaning for the past 30 minutes. “Not really, but I have a feeling you’re gonna show me anyway.”

Undeterred Sam shoved the deck of cards into Dean’s lap. “Shuffle these in any way you’d like.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but complied anyway. His 13-year-old geek brother was going through some weird magic phase and seemed to be hell bent on annoying the crap out of anybody who would sit still for more than 5 minutes. “What do you want me to do, Houdini?”

“Nothing,” Sam instructed. “Just hand ‘em back when you’re done.” He was practically bouncing in his seat.

“Don’t give yourself a stroke there, nerd,” Dean joked as he handed back the thoroughly shuffled deck of cards.

Sam took Dean’s neatly shuffled deck and proceeded to throw the cards into the air and have them rain down onto the bed. “I’m mixing them up more,” he explained as Dean gave him a confused look. “Okay now, this is the bottom card right? Don’t tell me what it is,” he ordered pulling out a 7 of diamonds.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said beginning to clean the inside of the barrel of a gun again.

“No, you have to watch!” Sam huffed. “Look! Okay, so I’m going to put the bottom card in the middle and make it rise to the top.”

“Mhm.”

“’Kay, you ready?” Sam asked pushing the gun out of Dean’s hand.

“Yes, just get this over with. I have stuff to do,” Dean sighed.

“See how I put the bottom card in the middle? Now I’m gonna make it rise to the top.” Sam’s hand hovered over the top. “Snap three times, Dean.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dean!”

“Fine, cool your jets, Poindexter,” Dean said snapping loudly three times.

“Was this,” Sam dramatically began, “your card?” He flipped the top card over to reveal the 7 of diamonds.

Dean leaned forward. “Yeah, actually. How’d you do that?”

Sam flashed his pearly whites and his signature dimples made their way onto his face. “A great magician never tells his secrets.”

“Yeah, but you’re not great,” Dean smirked.

“Shut up, Dean.”

A creak from the other room had both boys scrambling into the other room in time to see a man sloshing through the small cabin they were staying in. His boots left a muddy trail leading into the small oblong kitchen.

Dean pulled out a chair and a beer for his dad. “Hey dad. Any luck on finding what this thing is?”

John ignored Dean’s question and looked around their living space wearily. Books and papers were strewn about the ground, dirty clothes were piled in heaps, and candy wrappers littered the floor. “You’ve both got to clean this up, this mess is disgusting.”

“I’ve tried to keep the place clean,” Sam interjected. No way was he going to let Dean’s mess drag him down.

Dean glared at Sam. “Scientists say messes are conducive for… creativity.”

“Can you cite the study, when it was conducted, and who the scientists were?” Sam inquired.

“Of course.  Me, myself, and I,” Dean smirked.

Sam groaned, taking a seat alongside his dad. “That’s gotta be the worst joke you could’ve made with what I asked for.”

Dean scoffed. “Like you could’ve done better. Anyway, did you find out what’s going on dad?”

John took a swig of the beer Dean had given him, and rubbed his eyes. “No. I still have no idea what it is. I talked to several hunters, and none of them knew what it was either. It looks like a dead-end.”

Dean gave a low whistle. It was common that maybe one or two hunters had difficulty finding out what something was, but several? That was unheard of. “Are you sure it’s not a werewolf? I mean it sounds like it—you know, the whole ripping the heart out part.”

“Can’t be a werewolf,” Sam quipped. “The lunar cycle’s wrong. And even if a werewolf could transform outside the full moon, usually the people that get attacked are somehow connected to each other. These last four vics have had nothing in common other than the fact that they’re all male with their hearts missing. Different ages, ethnicities, even different parts of the city; it’s just too widespread.”

John got up and dragged himself to the fridge and pulled out a cold piece of pizza. “Like Sam said, not a werewolf.” He took a large bite of the pizza. “There just isn’t anything I know that takes the heart the way this thing does.”

“Well, was there anything else unusual?” Dean wondered. “I mean there has to be something that can lead us to find this ugly son of a bitch.”

“Dad, can I see the case files on the victims again?” Sam asked with a focused look on his face. “There might be something we’re missing.”

“Yeah sure,” John handed him a manila folder. “I’ve been over it a hundred time today alone, though.”

Sam didn’t pay his dad any attention. “All the killings were done at night, right?”

John sighed. “Yeah, but—“

“Well, there is something that the victims have in common then,” Sam said triumphantly. “All of the victims seemed to have invited the attacker in. Victim number one was found in his car, but no signs of a struggle were shown according to this report. Victim number three was found dead on the kitchen floor with a beer. He was definitely relaxed enough to have a drink, so no forced entry.” Sam looked up hoping someone would understand his reasoning. He was met with two blank stares from the people across him. “Victim number three was found on a blanket in a park, obviously there was no possibility of forced entry, but it seems a little weird to sit on a blanket alone at night, doesn’t it? I mean, I guess it’s okay…but still, the victim must’ve been expecting his attacker. Finally, there’s the fourth victim. He’s the biggest clue. He was found dead outside of the local baseball stadium with two tickets.”

“So what you’re saying,” John began slowly, “Is that the victims were all familiar with the person who killed them?”

Sam nodded eagerly. “I don’t know what the monster is. Could be a shifter, a rogue witch with a vendetta, or something else entirely. All I know is that while connections between the victims are few and far between, the monster clearly knows the person, or at least somehow finds a way to get close to them.”

Dean snorted. “Well that’s great. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, but we know the monster’s eager to make friends. Just freaking great. You’re such a nerd.”

“It wasn’t a really big deal in the reports. The lack of forced entry could logically be explained in various different ways, not to mention two of the murders occurred outdoors, so that would obscure certain findings. Police were looking for connections between the victims,” Sam explained. “The problem with that is that I don’t think these people know each other. So, once that option’s out, it means the attacker is somehow connected to each person individually. What we still don’t know is how the attacker knows all these people or how they got the vics to trust them.”

“Interesting theory, Sammy.” John muttered mulling over his thoughts on what his youngest had just said. “But that’s enough for tonight. It’s 11:30 and you both have school tomorrow. Bed, boys.”

Sam left the table immediately, feeling slightly inflated. He’d impressed his dad, despite the fact that he hadn’t said anything. Sam knew he was better at research than Dean, and that should at least keep his dad at bay. Pulling a pair of sweats and T-shirt on, Sam climbed into bed. He heard Dean shuffle in a few minutes later.

“Hey Dean,” Sam whispered.

“What?” Dean asked through a mouthful of toothpaste from the adjoining bathroom.

“Wanna see a magic trick?”

Dean spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “We can’t be related.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam nodded with conviction that was not iota genuine. “You pretend you’re James Dean in _Rebel Without a Cause_. I have to tell everyone in school that it’s just a phase and you do know leather isn’t the only type of clothing.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if you’re just jealous you never have girls talk to you,” Dean said climbing into bed.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Hormones, Dean. That’s all you have going for you. So, do you wanna see the magic trick?”

Dean just stared at Sam and sighing he muttered, “make it quick.”

 _THWOMP._ A red rubber ball soared directly into an unsuspecting boys thigh and claimed another target. The boy shuffled off to the sidelines to go and sit with the other “dead” participants. Dodge ball was a cruel sport, and not for the faint of heart. There could be no mercy. At least, that’s how Dean Winchester saw it. His peers all hated the stupid game, but c’mon, how could you hate _dodge ball?_ It was the freaking game of America.

Dean easily caught the ball aimed for his leg. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” he laughed. It was just to easy. He threw the ball back with frightening accuracy and it hit some blond kid in the chest.

The kid gave a surprised _oomf_ and staggered back. “Aww, c’mon. You hit me above the waist, that’s illegal!”

“No, chuckles. Coach said it was the chest,” Dean retorted.

“Well I’m not leaving!” He chucked the ball at Dean’s face. Hard.

Dean easily caught it, but if he was going to be a dick about it… “Hey, princess! Heads up!” Dean sent the ball hard and fast at the boy’s head. Blondie dove to the side, and Dean watched in horror as the ball flew straight into a girl’s face.

The girl was knocked off her feet and landed on the floor. “Oh shit, I am _so_ sorry,” Dean apologized rushing over.

The girl didn’t respond, but her head was tilted back and Dean could see her nose bleeding. “I am so sorry,” Dean stammered. “I totally didn’t mean to hit you in the face. I swear!”

The girl blinked rapidly still holding her head back as she gave a small nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“No, here.” Dean offered his hand. “Let me get you to the nurse.”

“Really, I’m fine,” she mumbled taking his hand. She stood up and Dean saw she had shoulder length auburn hair that shimmered when she moved. Her face was long, and she had fair skin that was tinged with pink at the cheeks. She had dark eyes that reminded Dean of the night sky, and despite the blood staining her face she was…beautiful. Dean had seen cute girls and pretty girls and hot girls…but this girl was so much _more_ than all of those things.

“No, really,” Dean said smoothly placing his arm around her shoulders. “I insist. It’s my fault this happened; let me make sure you’re okay. I’m taking her to the nurse, coach.”

The gym teacher gave a dismissive nod and Dean led the red haired girl outside the gym. “I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester. You probably don’t really care much now, though, seeing as your nose is bleeding.”

“It’ll stop soon, it’s just a nose bleed.” She smiled at him. “I’m Kimmy. I’m new, I just started today.”

Dean kicked himself internally. He’d hit her in the face on her first day? Smooth, Winchester. “Some first day, huh?” he teased hoping it wouldn’t impact his chances of getting to know her better. “And I’m new too. Well, new-ish. I’ve been here about a week and a half.”

“How do you like the school so far?” Kimmy asked making her way through the hallway crowded with other kids.

“Uhh…it’s nice. It’s school,” Dean replied somewhat lamely. _I sound like an idiot. I sound like Sam._ “How—how are you liking it?”

“I’ve only been here 4 periods, but it’s been good so far,” Kimmy told him.

 _What’s wrong with you, Dean? She just said it was her first day. Get it together._ “After you.” Dean pulled the door open to the nurse’s office . He was always good with girls, what was happening?

“I’ll take it from here,” Kimmy insisted. “See you later Dean Winchester.” She gave his hand a small pat and closed the door on him.

Dean stood thunderstruck for a few moments. He could feel the heat of her hand still on his. A tingling sensation crept through his body. Man, was this girl _gorgeous._ “Y—yeah. I’ll see you later,” he managed to spit out after the door had already close on him. Dean took a step back and brought his hands to his face with a groan. _Stupid, stupid—I don’t even know her classes. You just screwed that up._ Dean headed back to the locker rooms to change out of his PE uniform that clung to him like a mark of failure. He’d go and look for Kimmy later and explain…explain what? That he sounded like a total moron? Well, he’d think of something.

As it turned out, Dean didn’t have to think long. Dean was rushing along the corridor trying to get to his last period class praying he wasn’t late since he really didn’t think his dad would be too pleased if he got a detention, when he nearly ran headfirst into Kimmy.

“Kimmy! Hey!” Dean stammered. “You lost?”

“I’m looking for room 23C… I think it’s English with Mr. Nicholson,” she sighed reading over the unhelpful map of the school she had.

“Well what a coincidence,” Dean smiled. “I have English now too. C’mon. We’re a little late, but I think he’ll go easy on us since you’re new.”

“Alright, thanks so much,” she said brightly holding out her arm. “Lead the way.”

Mesmerized by her beautiful demeanor, Dean linked his arm in hers. Warmth rushed through him and he had an urge to just skip class and stare at the girl beside him. “Uh—yeah, it’s right this way.”

Dean opened the door to the English classroom 5 minutes late. “Sorry, Mr. Nicholson,” he apologized quickly before his teacher could tell him off. “But I was helping Kimmy find our class.”

“Alright,” Mr. Nicholson accepted. “Just take your seat.”

Kimmy stood by the doorway. “Where do I sit, sir?”

“Take the backseat by Mr. Winchester, please,” He scanned the class roster briefly. “Kimmy? You’re not on my roster yet. I guess they haven’t updated it. Administration takes forever on these matters. Anyway, as I was telling the class, we’re going to be doing a project on Dante’s _Inferno._ I don’t know if you’ve read it, but if you haven’t—“

“I’ve read it,” Kimmy interrupted from the back. “Dante inserts himself into his own story and talks to his favorite author. A bit narcissistic, but I guess it was a chance for him to talk to Virgil who’d been dead for ages now.” She gave a sweet smile and looked perfectly cherubic.

Mr. Nicholson blinked twice and regained his composure. “So we have a Dante enthusiast in the class. That’s great. Now, beginning this unit we need to know a bit more about Dante…”

Dean drowned out his teacher’s voice. He had ears only for Kimmy. So she was beautiful, smart, and funny? _Quite the dangerous line to toe there, Dean._ He could smell her hair as she bent down to take notes. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever smelled. It reminded him of going on an adventure in the woods, or sitting by a lake or _something._ God, he wanted to touch her hair. It was so shiny and soft and… Dean caught himself moving forward in his seat. _Stop it. Stop it right now._ But his brain jut wasn’t working.

“Winchester, what did I just say?” Dean heard an angry voice ask.

“Huh?” Dean blinked. Several people sniggered as he tried to remember what was going on.

“What was I saying?” Mr. Nicholson repeated looming above him, his arms crossed in his I’m-getting-annoyed stance.

“Ya—ya were talking about the history of—of… Dante! Yeah, Dante and _Inferno_ and that…stuff,” Dean trailed off.

Mr. Nicholson sighed. Dean was a funny kid and was bright, too. He just didn’t put in the effort. “I was discussing the project you’ve all been assigned. I want you all to read _Inferno._ Really read it. I could assign an essay,” –the class groaned—“but I’m not going to.” A collective _yes_ echoed through the room. “However, I am going to assign a creative project. I want you all to go through Dante’s 9 layers of hell and pick people to put in them. Limit it to celebrities and public figures; I don’t need to see any of you placing each other in hell. Then I need a detailed explanation of why that person is in that certain layer. Let’s not get overly sensitive, it’s just an exercise and it’s not meant to be taken literally. Partner up, this project is due the in a month.”

Dean laughed. _Putting people in hell? That was freaking hilarious. Maybe_ _Dante wasn’t so bad after all. Plus, he wouldn’t have to write an essay… and it was a partner project…_ “Hey Kimmy,”” Dean tapped her shoulder, “I was wondering if you’d like to partner up for the Dante project.”

She half turned in her seat and smirked. “Are you just asking because you want to get out of doing the work?”

“Wha—no! No, not at all!” Dean stuttered. “I just thought since you’re new and I’m new-ish we could—“

“Relax, Dean. I’m kidding,” she interrupted. “I’ll be your partner.”

Dean tired to physically top himself from sighing in relief. “That’s great. I suppose I should actually read _Inferno_ before we start…”

“We can read it together. I’d love to refresh my memory of the book before doing a project on it,” she suggested.

“That’d be awesome,” Dean beamed. This was going far better than expected. “The only thing is, I don’t know when we’d meet… my little brother’s still in school and I usually pick him up after.”

“That’s not a big deal,” she accommodated. “We can bring him with us to the library. I’m sure he has his own work.”

Her voice reminded Dean of wind chimes blowing in the breeze. He heard himself agreeing eagerly. “Yeah! I’m sure that would work. We could meet every Tuesday and Thursday if you’d like.”

“Sounds great,” she said flashing a pair of dazzlingly white teeth as the bell for the class sounded. “I’ll see you around, Dean Winchester.”

Dean sat rooted on the spot as he watched her pack her books and leave the classroom with an elegant grace, her skirt flouncing as she skipped out of the room. This girl was magnetic. Dean felt compelled to follow her, but instead slowly packed up his books and made his way out of the classroom.

Sam was waiting for him outside the Impala. The middle school was across the street, and Sam had finally convinced Dean not to wait for him right outside his classroom everyday. Some kids complained about embarrassing parents. Try a clingy controlling brother. That was true horror. “Hey Dean, class ended early.”

            Sam expected a greeting of some sort, but his older brother just unlocked the Impala and slid into the driver’s seat. _Rude._  “So we’re doing this essay on _Lord of the Flies_ , and you have to pick one character to analyze, and I don’t know who I’d like to write it on,” Sam explained to his brother that seemed determined to ignore him. “Like, I could write it on Piggy since he’s the logic and reason on the island. He’s the last true hope of order and civilization. Or, I could write about Jack, who’s the leader of the savage sect of kids. They call themselves hunters,” he snorted.

            Dean still didn’t respond. It seemed as if he’d been switched on autopilot. He was driving and going through the motions, but he wasn’t really _there._

            Sam continued talking. “They hunt pigs and food, but they’re really disgusting…and you’re not listening to anything I’m saying. Dean. Dean!”

            Dean looked dazed as he glanced at his bother. “What?”

            “Have you heard anything I’ve said this entire ride?” Sam huffed.

            “Of course!” Dean snapped. That was the second time someone asked him that today. But could anyone really blame him? His mind was far busier with thoughts of a certain redhead.

            “No you haven’t,” Sam sighed as the Impala pulled up in front of the small townhouse his dad had rented for the month.

            “I have!” Dean insisted. “Stuff about the island and those kids.”

            Sam rolled his eyes. “You missed the entire plot, but nice try. Anyway, wanna see a magic trick?”

            Dean groaned. “Do I have to?”

            “Watch this,” Sam ordered pulling a deck of cards out of his pocket.

            “Just kill me now,” Dean muttered unlocking the front door.

            “Hey boys,” their dad greeted from the living room. “How was school?”

            “Fine,” Dean interjected before Sam could start talking about Island of the Flies or whatever. “Actually dad, I’m doing a group project for English and I need two hours after school Tuesday and Thursday.” Dean bit his lip. He had just accepted Kimmy’s offer without even fully considering his dad might be opposed.

            John’s eyes narrowed. “Where do you plan on doing this?”

            “The library,” Dean explained quickly. “I know you’re busy, so I figured I could meet up there and Sam could do homework or something.”

            “I could come home alone, it’s not that far,” Sam quipped.

            “No!” Dean said frustrated. Sam starting his whole I’m-so-old-I’m-a-teenager thing was the last thing he wanted to get into right now.

            “I’m still in the room. If you’re gonna make plans at least include me,” Sam retorted.

            “Both of you stop it. Sam you can’t stay here,” John said firmly.

            “You left Dean alone at my age!” Sam protested.

            “You like the library, why are you throwing a temper tantrum about this?” John asked incredulously, dodging the question.

            “It’s not about the library! It’s the principle of the thing!” Sam said in a voice close to whine. “I can go on hunts with you, but god forbid I stay home alone a few hours.”

            “Sam. Enough.” John clipped.

            His father’s tone was enough to make Sam stop arguing, but he gave his best glare and made the point in huffing a lot so they would all know he didn’t appreciate being excluded. It was true that he loved the library and didn’t mind, but still.

            “It’s just a month long project, dad,” Dean pleaded. “I don’t even know if we’ll be here that long, but I need to do it to get a good grade. It would only be Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3-5 and I’d keep an eye on Sammy.”

            John sighed. “Fine, but at least try and get a good grade on this if you’re not gonna be helping with the hunt.”

            “I will,” Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “And I’ll help other days. Promise.”     

            Tuesday couldn’t have rolled around fast enough. Dean really _really_ wanted to talk to Kimmy again. Alone. Sure they talked in class, and she waved at him in the hallways, but he wanted to get to know her. It was strange. Usually Dean could easily find a pretty girl, they’d hookup, and it’d be over. But this…. this transcended his usual pattern. He wanted to know _everything_ about her.

            By the end of the day Dean was so antsy he’d taken to chewing the top off of his pencil. He _never_ did that. It was gross. However, on this day, it couldn’t be helped.

            “I’ll meet you at the library,” he told Kimmy the moment the bell rang. “I’ve got to get my brother.”

            “See you there,” she called out as he practically ran out of the classroom.

            Dean spotted Sam with effort. Sam was struggling to make his way across the street through the sea of kids all moving in the opposite direction. It didn’t help that he was half a head shorter than most of them. “C’mon Sammy!” Dean called waving his arms in the high school parking lot.

            Sam flinched and jogged towards Dean. “What the hell, Dean?”

            “What?”

            “I told you not to call me that in public?”

            “Call you wha—Sammy?” Dean looked taken aback.

            “Yes,” Sam hissed. “Everyone heard you and now I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

            “Lighten up, _Sammy.”_ Dean grinned.

            “You’re such a jerk,” Sam said in defeat.

            “I’ve gotta get to the library, let’s go,” Dean said pulling his little brother along as he sped-walked to the library.

            “Ow, Dean. Let go!” Sam yanked his arm out of his brother’s grasp. Since when do you care about school so much anyway?”

            “I’ve always cared about school,” Dean said distractedly opening the library door. Where was Kimmy? For one awful moment he thought she hadn’t turned up…then he spotted her sitting near the back, with a shelf partially obstructing her from view. “Sammy, I’m going to be at that table. If you need anything, don’t bother us and deal with it, okay?”

            Sam snorted. “You’re gonna make an excellent parent one day, Dean. No wonder you wanted to do this project so badly, that girl sure is pretty.”

            Dean glared at his brother. Sam was being his usually bratty self, but Dean felt it was more than that. Could he be feeling a small seed of… _jealousy? No. I’m not jealous because Sam said she was pretty. I’m just annoyed he’s being a bitch._ “Whatever, go do whatever nerdy crap you like to do.”

            Sam watched in surprise as his brother brushed him aside and nearly tipped himself to sit with the red-haired girl. _Does Dean have a crush on her? Does Dean get crushes on people? He usually just gets the girl, no big deal._ Sam took a seat far away from his brother, but with a clear vantage point that allowed him to see what was going on. Just when he thought he knew everything there was to know about Dean, he went and did this. Typical.

            “Hey Kimmy,” Dean said breathlessly as he took a seat.

            “Hi, Dean,” she smiled brightly. “I’m thinking we take two weeks to get through the book, then have a full two weeks to do the project. How does that sound?”

            “That sounds great,” Dean told her. “Very organized.”

            “You say that as if it’s foreign to you,” Kimmy joked.

            “I’m more of a take it as it comes kinda guy,” Dean smirked. “Model student.”

            “Never doubted it,” she grinned. “Oh crap. I forgot my copy of _Inferno._ There goes my credibility for being organized.”

            “No worries,” Dean pulled out his copy. “We can share.”

            Kimmy moved her chair close to Dean’s. Dean could feel the heat radiating off her body. Her arm brushed against his as she opened the book, but it felt as if he’d been electrocuted.

            “It has both the original language on one side, and English on the other. That’s nice,” Kimmy stated absently as she looked through the book.

            “That’s great,” Dean choked out. He was too busy staring at her. God, he probably looked like a creep.

            “It’s not super long, but we should finish about 50 pages each time we meet for the next two weeks,” she explained. “Is that ok?”

            “Yeah, that’s awesome,” Dean replied slightly awestruck. “Do you want to read first?”

            “Sure. ‘ _Midway upon the journey of our life…’_ ” Kimmy read.

            Dean found her voice incredibly sweet, like honey. He couldn’t help but find _Inferno_ to be the most fascinating thing he’d ever read (well, listened to).

            Two hours flew by before he knew it, and he realized he hadn’t even read the text at all. “Wow, you must think I slacked off,” Dean told Kimmy. “You read the thing to me like a little kid.”

            “It’s alright, I like reading aloud,” she told him. “I don’t have any siblings, so I guess I missed out on that part. Plus, you listened well and we discussed the text a bit.”

            “Great, I’m a pro listener. That’s awesome.”

            “We were very productive,” she laughed. “I’ve got to go, I’ll see you later, Dean.”

            “Wait,” Dean said grabbing her hand as she tuned to go. “Do you need a ride? I have a car.”

            “No, I can get home, but thanks,” Kimmy gave his hand a small squeeze. “And thanks for being so nice to me.”

            “O—of course,” Dean blinked.

            “See you later, Dean Winchester.” With a final squeeze of his hand, Kimmy walked away.

            Dean stood in the library feeling like his entire body was on fire. He wanted to follow her, but he had to get home. He had to take Sam home. Sam. Sam… a warmth rushed into his face as Dean glanced over and noticed his brother sitting at a table watching him with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. _He’s never gonna shut up. I’m gonna have to kill him. There’s no other option._

            “What are you looking at?” Dean snapped at Sam.

            “Me? Nothing,” Sam said innocently. “I was just wondering if you wanted to see a disappearing card trick.”

            “Do I have to?”

            “No,” Sam told him pushing open the door of the library. “I could show the redhead…what was her name? Kimmy?”

            “That’s it,” Dean muttered putting his arms around Sam’s shoulders and steering him to the Impala. “Say anything, and the entire school will not only call you Sammy, but they’ll know all about how the big bad clown scared Sammy so much he screamed during _It_ and had to sleep with the lights on.”

            “You wouldn’t,” Sam gasped horrified.

            “Try me,” Dean threatened with that pompous air only an older sibling could possess.

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”

            Ideally, the next three weeks at the Winchester household would’ve passed by without anything strange, but good luck was never something that the Winchesters were blessed with. Sam was all too aware of how his father was becoming increasingly frustrated with the hunt. He’d hit a dead end with research, and to top it off another body had been found by the restaurant district in the city. Some guy in a cheap suit had been found with his heart missing. Werewolf, but not a werewolf. Great. Sam normally would’ve been more involved with research, but his dad’s temper was so short lately that he didn’t want to sneeze and set off the dynamite that was John Winchester.

            Then there was Dean. Sam had thought his brother would be happy or hormonal or _something._ Instead he got a catatonic brother who would come home from school, do his chores or homework or train and then go straight to bed and stare at the ceiling all day. The worst was Sam couldn’t figure out _why._ He and Kimmy got along just fine at the library when he saw them, but other than that Dean seemed to be completely withdrawn. Dean seemed to be exhibiting total apathy, and it was honestly starting to freak Sam out. Dean had even sat through three, yes _three,_ card tricks. In a row. Sam kept hoping he’d snap out of it, but it seemed like he wasn’t going to anytime soon. Well, this was awesome.

            Sam groaned as he combed his hair only to realize it was Thursday and he’d have to stick around waiting for Dean to finish his stupid project. Sam felt awkward being a third wheel, especially since he wasn’t really a third wheel. As far as Sam could tell, his brother hadn’t even kissed this girl. He just got all weird and tensed up around her anytime she got near him.

            “Sam! C’mon we’re gonna be late!” Dean shouted slamming the front door.

            _Crap._ “I’m coming, just give me a sec!” Sam ran out of the bathroom, and grabbed a poptart that was lying on the table. “See you later, dad!”

            John gave a dismissive wave, clearly frustrated over the fact that his research had gotten him nowhere.

            Sam slid into the passenger’s seat and buckled his seat belt as Dean pulled out of the driveway.

            Having been in the Impala millions of times, Sam knew it inside and out. Something was different. Something was wrong… and then he heard. The radio was on, and the music was playing, but instead of the usual AC/DC tracks, Dean was listening to… the Backstreet Boys?

            “Dean?” Sam asked with concern.

            “Mmm?”

            “You’re aware that the Backstreet Boys are on, right?”

            “Yep,” came Dean’s absent reply.

            “Dean, pull the car over,” Sam ordered.

            “What? No. If I’m late I’ll get a detention.”

            “Dean, pull the damn car over now or I swear to God I’ll do it myself,” Sam hissed.

            “Alright, geez,” Dean mumbled pulling over. “Such a control freak.”

            The Impala came to a slow stop as the tires crunched on the gravel a few blocks away from school.

            Both Winchesters sat in the car, the only noise was the purr of the engine in park. Dean would’ve usually said something like _Sam why are you being such a bitch._ However, Sam was met with a silent brother who merely gave him a ‘what?’ look.

            “Dean, is everything okay?” Sam asked tentatively.

            “What? Of course!” Dean answered incredulously.

            “Really?” Sam pressed. “Because you’re pretty far from okay.”

            “What the hell are you talking about, Sam?” Dean snapped with a semblance of his old self.

            “Gee, let me think,” said Sam with mock sincerity. “You’ve been angsty and locking yourself in your room all the damn time…”

            “I’m not angsty!” Dean protested.

            “—the other day I offered you a hamburger and fries and you said no. You said no to a burger, Dean!”

            “I wasn’t hungry,” Dean said rolling his eyes.

            “You’re ALWAYS hungry,” Sam fumed, his voice rising. “And today you’re practically humming the frigging backstreet boys! THE BACKSTREET BOYS!”

            ‘Kimmy likes them and they were randomly on the radio, don’t have a temper tantrum, bitch.”

            “Seriously, Dean. Is something going on?” The anger in Sam’s voice was ebbing and a concerned tone was taking its place. “Is there anything going on at school? Or your classes? We could always talk to dad, and see—“

            “I’m FINE!” Dean yelled exasperated. “I’m freaking peachy, Sam. Now can we go to school?”

            Hurt flashed in Sam’s eyes, but he continued to press the matter at hand. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

            Dean turned away from Sam and leaned into the cool window of the Impala. He was definitely late now. The silence in the car was thick and uneasy.  

            Sam stared at his brother’s back. Dean had never been touchy-feely, but he also didn’t usually snap at him. “Dean, whatever it is, it’ll be fine.”

            Dean murmured something, but Sam couldn’t quite make out the words he was saying.

            “What? I can’t hear you.”

            A whisper came from his brother. “I—I think I’m in love.”

            Now it was Sam’s turn to have his jaw drop in disbelief. Dean _in love?_ He started laughing, because that was the greatest joke he’d ever heard. A sharp pain erupted on the side of Sam’s head, and white spots danced in front of his eyes.

            “WHAT THE HELL?” he demanded as he blinked back tears. “What are you hitting me for?”

            “You’re being a bitch,” Dean grunted.

            “You can’t just freaking hit people when you’re annoyed. That’s preschool, Dean!” Sam spat, rubbing the side of his head where Dean’s fist had hit him.

            “You made fun of my feelings for her,” Dean said as if it were so obvious.

            “I thought you were kidding,” Sam glared.

            “No! She’s all I can think about. All the time,” Dean struggled to explain. “It’s like it hurts when I’m not around her, and all I see is her. All I want is to be around her. When I’m not around her there’s not point.”

            “Dean, that’s…” Creepy? Sappy? Pathetic? “…infatuation.”

            Dean crossed his arms. “I knew you’d say that. You don’t understand.”

            Sam gave a hollow laugh. “Really? You’re using the whole ‘no one understands’ angle with _me?_ You’ve gotta be kidding.”

But Dean had already pulled the car out, and was heading up the few short blocks to the school.

“Dean! It doesn’t matter if we’re late one day!” Sam yelled in frustration.

            It was too late for anything to be done, however. Dean pulled into the parking lot and had angrily grabbed his bag and slammed the door.

            “Dean! Wait!” Sam called out. “Dean! Don’t walk away from me!” Dean didn’t turn around, he just walked into the office without a glance to spare.

            “Dammit!” Sam hissed kicking one of the Impala’s tires. There was nothing he could do for now except go sit in class.

            Dean crossed the street and took a seat towards the back of the classroom so he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone. Was Dean serious? Sam could understand the normal moody teenager being like this, but Dean? Dean rebelled against the idea of being anything vaguely whiny or emotional. He favored dad’s old beat up leather jacket, a Led Zeppelin cassette tape, and a casual make out any day. Now, however, Dean was acting exactly like the type of kid in those pamphlets school counselors send home that were titled “Growing Up: Your Teenager and YOU.” Sam shuddered at the thought. He’d try and talk to Dean after school; maybe he’d be able to see his perspective a bit better.

            Sam found it difficult to concentrate all day as he tried to come up with some sort of apology to tell Dean after he had laughed at him unintentionally. Maybe Sam’s reaction wasn’t the best, but Dean had to know he was overreacting right? At 2:45 sharp, Sam made his way to the library and waited for his brother. They were supposed to meet there, and Dean was never later.

            However, Sam watched as the minutes slowly past and his older brother failed to appear. Sam waited until 5, doing his homework, hoping that his ‘responsible’ brother would show up. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore and stalked out of the library. He went back to the Impala that was locked in the hopes that Dean was releasing anger or some other emotion by screaming to music in the car, but he was disappointed. Angrily, Sam stomped back to the library, when something caught his eye.

            Dean’s blue backpack was by the side of the library, so that meant Dean couldn’t have been far. Sam picked it up, and wandered to the back of the library building. Sam turned the corner and gasped audibly.

            There was Dean, pressed against a wall, with his hands intertwined in Kimmy’s shiny red hair, and his lips moving in a way that made Sam think he was eating her. Kimmy didn’t seem to be quite as frisky as Dean, she had just stood there with her arms at her sides. Sam stepped back hoping to avoid being noticed, but the fall leaves made that impossible.

            “Sam!” Dean yelped with a jump.

            Sam threw him a look of disgust. “I’ll be at the car.”

            Dean watched Sam stalk off, but he wasn’t bothered. Sam could leave and not come back for all he cared. Sam didn’t matter; he just had to be with Kimmy. It was so _right._ “Sorry about that,” he murmured running a hand through her hair. “My little brother. Girls are a foreign concept to him. Now where were we?” He leaned in to kiss her neck, when she cut him off.

            “Not now,” Kimmy said biting her lip. “He might come back.”

            “Sammy?” Dean asked. “Nah, he knows better. I’d kick his ass if he did.”

            “Is there someplace we could be alone later?” Kimmy asked nervously. “I’d really prefer if we were alone.”

            “Uhh,” Dean wracked his brain. “Mullcreek Canyon isn’t too far from here, about a mile uphill. It’s where most couples go to _talk.”_

“Perfect,” she grinned. “See you at 8?”

            “Definitely,” Dean murmured.

            “I’d never done anything like this before, but I like you, Dean Winchester. You’re different,” she purred. “See you later.” She kissed Dean on the cheek and Dean felt his head spin.

            “Of course.”

            Sam refused to speak to his brother on the short car ride home, but Dean didn’t seem to care, so it wasn’t nearly as satisfying for Sam. Both Winchesters slammed the car doors in an effort to prove who was more pissed off with the other.

            “Dad’s gonna be pissed we’re late,” Sam said acidly breaking the silence.

            “Whatever,” Dean muttered.

            “Whatever? He’s gonna kill us!” Sam spat.

            “I don’t really give a crap. Deal with it,” Dean replied.

            “I can’t just ‘deal’ with dad, Dean! What’s your freaking problem?” Sam ranted. “You’re supposed to meet me after school not leave me hanging. That’s really damn annoying because I have to sit around like an idiot!”

            “That’s all you ever want Sam!” Dean snapped. “It’s always me, me, me. Just grow up already. If you don’t’ want to ‘sit around like an idiot’ find something else to do!”

            “Are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You’re the one always telling me I can’t go off on my own! You’re suffocating, Dean. You’re acting like some love-struck fool who can’t tell which way is up or down. If you’d just tell me why you’re acting like this—“

            “I don’t need to tell you anything,” Dean sneered. “I do enough for you. I sit through your stupid card tricks, I drive you everywhere, I listen to your stupid school things I frankly don’t give a rat’s ass about. I don’t care about 90% of the crap that comes out your mouth, but I grin and bear it. So don’t lecture me! Just leave me alone and stop following me around. What makes you think I like having you around anyway?” Dean opened the house door with more force than was necessary and stormed into his room and slammed the door with a loud bang that reverberated throughout the house

            “Sam! What the hell is going on?” John shouted pounding on the door.

            “I’m actually over here,” came a dejected voice from the doorway.

            “Sam?” John asked in disbelief. “What’s gotten into Dean? And why the hell are you so goddam late?”

            Sam didn’t answer for a moment. Was he just a burden that Dean was forced to put up with. Dean had always told him he liked having him around and that he wasn’t bothering him. Was he lying because he thought Sam couldn’t handle it?

            “He’s just upset with me,” Sam mumbled curling up on the couch.

            John stared at the door Dean had slammed. Dean wasn’t one for theatrics that was normally Sam’s job. And Sam… Sammy looked pale and frightened. He seemed so childlike. John had never been good with talks, but he sat down next to Sam anyway and decided not to press the issue on why he and Dean were so late.

            “What exactly has your brother turned into the Tasmanian devil?”

            “Nothing,” Sam muttered flatly.

            “Your brother doesn’t throw doors, it’s not his style,” John teased. “I actually thought it was you. It’s a signature move of yours.”

            Sam smiled in spite of himself. His dad’s words held no malice or cruelty. He hadn’t talked easily with his dad in ages, and right now Sam wanted to be four years old again and sit on his dad’s lap and know things would be okay. “Dean met this girl,” Sam said in a small voice. “I guess I got in the way too much.”

            John hesitantly put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and he was pleased when Sam leaned into it slightly. “You’re brother isn’t a superhero, kiddo. He’s bound to act like a teenager every now and then.”

            Sam grunted, and John took that as a sign that Sam was listening. He continued, “and when you add a girl into the mix…well, things are bound to get complicated.”

            “Dean gets girls all the time,” came Sam’s muffled voice. “This one is special for some reason.”

            John grimaced. Prying into Dean’s dating life wasn’t his preferred choice of pastime. He knew Dean was quite popular amongst the ladies; Dean was too damn cocky for John not to notice. However, beyond that John preferred the whole ‘Ignorance is Bliss’ thing. “Dean isn’t impervious to hormones,” John told Sam. “How about you help me look over the case files for the hunt? The police got back reports on the dead guy by the restaurant.”

            “What’d they conclude?” Sam asked intrigued.

            “Wild animal attack,” John snorted.

            “How’d they come up with that?” Sam inquired leafing through the police reports.

            “The missing heart, and some trace of fur,” John told him sitting on the couch with his son.

            “Wait, there was fur?” Sam asked eagerly. “Wolf fur?”

            “Funnily enough, no,” John sighed.  “It was canine fur, but they think it was something smaller. More along the lines of a dog or a fox.”

            “A dog,” Sam repeated. “Is there any lore on a dog that can do that?”

            “There are reports of skin walkers, but they don’t rip the heart out.”

            “Well…” Sam murmured mulling over his thoughts. “Do you know of a fox that could do that?”

            “A fox? Not that I know of. Fox are in tons of lore though…” John admitted. “Let’s start looking there.”

            Sam nodded and opened up a large book and immediately started researching. John smiled, it had been a while since he and Sam had been alone five minutes without wanting to rip each other’s throats out. He had missed being ‘dad.’

            Two hours later Sam slammed a large page of lore in front of John. “Take a look at this, dad!”

            “What does that say? A Kumiho?” John asked. “What’s that?”

            “A Kumiho is a supernatural fox. According to the lore they’re somewhat similar to a werewolf, except they have nine tails and don’t follow the lunar cycle pattern of attack,” Sam blurted out in a rush.

            “Oh that’s just great. Werewolf not limited to the lunar cycle,” John groaned.

            “It gets worse,” Sam explained. “The Kumiho prefers livers or hearts. All the vics had their hearts missing. Since it is a werewolf cousin, silver bullets should stop it.”

            “How did we miss this?” John asked in shock. He was supposed to be a pro, yet his teenager had upstaged him.

            “Well, they’re sort of like a Korean fairytale. They’re rare as hell, and it’s almost unheard of that they’re in America,” Sam amended.

            “Anything else?” John questioned, dreading the anwer.

            Sam grimaced. “So get this, the Kumiho is also rumored to turn into a beautiful woman and seduce men, and then eat their hearts out. It takes the phrase ‘love hurts’ to an entirely new level.”

            “No wonder. All the victims were male and like you said earlier, there appeared to be no forced entry…” John’s voice trailed off as he had a horrifying thought. “Does it say anything about how the Kumiho seduces the men? Or if it can turn into different women?”

            “No,” Sam said regretfully. “It doesn’t say anything about that…I’m going to assume she can turn into different women because there hasn’t been one woman in common with all of the vics. And I suppose the text could mean ‘seduce’ in the traditional sense, but it is possible there’s a stronger pull… like a siren-esque power focused on only one person at a time.”

            “Sam, when did your brother meet Kimmy?” John asked quietly.

            “What? Like 3 and a half weeks ago, why do you…” Sam’s eyes widened. “You don’t think?”

            “It seems a little to coincidental,” John remarked.

            “Oh god. Dean could’ve been killed,” Sam whispered horrified.

            “Maybe Dean wasn’t actually a regular teenager,” John added.

            Sam ran over to their hared room nearly tripping on a pair of Dean’s dirty socks. “Dean!” Sam pounded on the door. “Dean, we need to talk!” Dean didn’t answer. Sam jiggled the knob in frustration. “You aren’t allowed to lock the door to OUR room! Open the damn door Dean!”

            Sam was brusquely moved aside as John pounded on the door. “Dean if you don’t open this damn door I’m gonna break it down! Open it now, that’s an order!” When Dean didn’t answer, John roundhouse kicked the door open in one continuous movement.           

            The small room was exactly as Sam had left it that morning; candy wrappers on the floor, dirty clothes strewn about, but it was missing something. It was missing Dean. Sam’s mouth went dry and his tongue felt thick and cottony. No. Dean was playing a joke on them. He didn’t actually sneak out. He wouldn’t do that. That could get him killed. That could get him killed. Killed.

            “SAM!” John shouted. “You need to snap out of it right now!”

            Time seemed to move in slow motion. Dean couldn’t be dead. Dean was a jerk who was supposed to make fun of him. Dead.

            “SAM!”

            Sam forced himself to blink. “Wha—what?”

            “Focus. I need to know if there’s any place you know of that your brother might be right now,” his dad barked harshly.

            Sam shook his head, embarrassed to find tears beginning to well. He looked away from his dad. “I don’t know, sir. The school, or the movies, or Mullcreek Canyon, or—“

            “What’s that?” John interrupted.

            “What’s what? Mullcreek Canyon? It’s some popular make out spot according to Dean,” Sam said scrambling to make the words form sentences in his brain.

            “Get in the car,” John ordered.

            Sam felt stiff, but forced his leaden legs to move. _Dean’s fine._ He couldn’t afford to think otherwise or he’d throw up. _Dean’s fine. Dean’s always fine._

            Dean sat in the pale moonlight. Mullcreek Canyon had a stunning view that overlooked the city. It was far from any smog or pollution, so the stars were clear and bright. Dean didn’t notice any of that, though. He was too busy sitting with his arm around the most beautiful girl in the world.

            She was warm and inviting, and he felt like he was melting into pool of soft syrupy butter. She leaned in and her face was inches from his and he could count the few freckles on her nose. She brought her face closer to his. “You’re different, Dean Winchester.” Then Dean found his lips meeting with hers, smooth and soft like velvet. Her fingers made their way to the buttons on his shirt, and slowly she began undoing them one by one.

            “DEAN STOP!” Dean’s eyes snapped open and he jumped back. His little brother was panting as he ran up the hill. His eyes were wild and he was screaming like a madman.

            “Sam! What the hell are you doing here?” He shouted angrily. “I’m gonna kill you!”

            “Dean step away from her,” Sam panted.

            “No! Are you crazy? You’re being rude!” Dean raged.

            “Dean, tell him we want to be alone,” Kimmy whispered in his ear

            “Go away, Sam. I thought I made it clear. I don’t need you,” Dean said viciously. “I don’t _want_ you.”

            Sam stepped backward. “That’s not you talking Dean.”

            “Really?” Dean sneered. “If I never saw your sorry ass again, I’d be fine.”

            “You bitch,” Sam spat at the Kumiho.

            “Dean he’s being really mean to me,” she said sweetly stroking his cheek, and winking at Sam.

            “I’m going to make your regret this day, Sam,” Dean said menacingly.

            “No, you’re not,” Sam said pulling out a loaded gun. “Now step back. Now.”

            “You’re brother would take a bullet for me, Sammy,” the Kumiho sneered. “That whole nervous school girl act wound your pathetic brother up so tight he would do anything for me.”

            “Dean get outta the way,” Sam commanded.

            “No,” Dean refused stepping in front of the Kumiho. “You wanna kill her you’re gonna have to kill me.”

            “Sorry, Sammy,” the Kumiho smirked. “But I’m going to eat your brother all up. I’ll save you for desert though, so don’t worry.”

            Sam smiled. “I’d be inclined to oblige. You’re pretty and all, really you are. But I’m going to have to refuse. You haven’t met my dad yet, and he might be a bit of a turn off.”

            The Kumiho didn’t even get a chance to turn around. The sickening snap of bones through her chest made her gasp in surprise as she delicately touched the knife that was piercing her. She gave a small ‘oh’ and crumpled and fell to the ground.

            Sam lowered his gun and walked over to the Kumiho’s lifeless corpse. “It’s Sam.”

            “Ugh that was my good silver knife,” John said in disgust as he pulled the knife out of a large fox with nine bushy tails coming out of it.

            Dean blinked rapidly. He felt disoriented and dazed. What was going on? And why the hell was Sammy holding a gun? “Sammy?”

            “Dean?” Sam asked uncertainly. “You alright?

            “Fi—fine. Where the hell are we?” Dean croaked trying to wrack his brain for memories of last night. Suddenly, they came flooding back. Kimmy wasn’t Kimmy she was…whatever the hell was at his feet. And Sam. He’d said the worst things. Guilt rushed through Dean. “Sam, I umm, I didn’t mean—“

            “It’s alright, Dean,” Sam said flatly. “You were under her spell.”

            Before Dean could refute Sam’s point, his dad interrupted him. “Both of you get in the car. I’ll get rid of the body.”

            Dean groaned as he climbed in the Impala with his brother. Even her leathery smell wasn’t enough to comfort him. “Sammy, I’m really so—“

            “Drop it, Dean,” Sam said cutting him off. “If the situation were reversed you’d be saying the same thing right now.”

            “Yeah, but it’s not reversed,” Dean whispered. “I was just the shittiest person.”  
            “Yeah, you were,” Sam agreed. “But it wasn’t all you. Really, Dean. I’ll be fine.” Sam forced himself to smile as he choked out those words that he desperately wanted to believe. What if the Kumiho’s influence simply made Dean be more uninhibited? What if he secretly did think he was a burden?

            “Sammy, you’re a pain in the ass,” Dean sighed turning around to face him. “You drive me nuts, and yeah, I sometimes wish I could have some time to myself or ride around in the Impala with a purpose other than dropping you off at school, but that will never _ever_ make you a burden. Are we clear?”

            Sam stared into Dean’s fierce green eyes. Loyalty was practically oozing from his brother. “Yeah, we’re clear.”

            “Good,” Dean said firmly. “Oh my god.”

            “What?”

            “I kissed a fox,” Dean whispered mortified. “I don’t even like dogs.”

            “While foxes and dogs are in the same family, they’re different species,” Sam pointed out.

            Dean groaned. “Not helping.”

            “And you listened to the backstreet boys,” Sam smirked.

            “Oh god. I’ve become a monster,” Dean moaned melodramatically.

            “Hey Dean?”

            “Yeah?”

            “You’re gonna need a good excuse for not finishing your English project.”

            “If you don’t stop talking the ninth layer of hell will end up looking like a day at the spa.”  
            “Dean?”

            “What?”

            “I’m pretty sure you would’ve been happier just watching my magic tricks,” Sam grinned. “Just saying.”

            “God you’re such a bitch.”

            “Welcome back, Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this had been an idea I'd been toying with for a while, namely because I could picture Dean in the Impala listening to the Backstreet Boys and Sam freaking out. It was supposed to be a slightly more humorous chapter, so I hope that came out, too. I just wanted to say that I did use the legend of the Kumiho, but I fudged the lore a bit to fit the story. They're pretty interesting, so they're worth looking up if you're bored. Also, the assignment Mr. Nicholson gives the class is an actual assignment I received in high school. I thought it was hilarious because you got to pick people to place in hell, some girls thought that was wrong and ended up writing an essay instead, so to each his own. Anyway, let me know what you think.


	15. Flu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I just want to apologize for not updating in a really REALLY long time! It's been crazy at school since the term in beginning to come to a close, so trying to devise a set writing schedule is nearly impossible. I can't promise I'll be updating soon, but I will definitely be free after early May since uni gets out for summer. The second thing I wanted to mention was that is acting wonky right now and I can't format this chapter too well. So if something is strangely formatted, I apologize. Any grammar mistakes are my own, since I should probably be asleep by now (hah). As far as this chapter goes, it was supposed to be something fluffier, so hopefully that panned out ok. I obviously don't own the characters or any of it, so don't sue me. As always, reviews are lovely.

**Chapter 15: Flu**

            Dean Winchester was an unstoppable force. He had broken his arm (twice), been thrown against walls, fallen down a flight of stairs, cracked a few ribs, and had even been shot in the shoulder once. After all of these occasions, he would crack a half-assed grin, take a few “medicinal” shots of whiskey and call it a day. Dean Winchester wasn’t a force to be reckoned with, until one day he finally found his match: the flu.

            Sam felt warm and fuzzy, wrapped up in bed. It was a feeling that came sparingly since he would often wake up early to do his homework, or get up to fit a morning run in per his dad’s request. However, Sam could hear a soft moaning coming from somewhere close by.  He groaned as he opened his eyes to find out where the noise was coming from. Peering through the darkness he could see his older brother’s form leaning against a wall with one arm clutching his stomach, the other covering his eyes.

            “Dean?” Sam whispered. “Are you okay?”

            “I’m peachy,” came a snarky voice from somewhere to Sam’s left.

            “Really? ‘Cause you sound like you’re dying.”

            Dean gave the best huff he could muster. “I’ll be fine, just a little sweaty. Go back to sleep, Sammy.”

            Sam squinted at the digital alarm clock that read 4:38 am. “It’s Sam. Dean if you’re feeling sick you need to tell dad that we can’t go on that hunt tomo—“

            “I’m fine!” Dean snapped cutting Sam off. “Just a little nauseous. Nothing I can’t handle.” Dean allowed himself to slide down the wall and slump onto the floor.

            Sam eyed the lump that was his brother suspiciously. “Fine, I’m going back to bed, but if you start feeling sick, let me know.”

            “Alright, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Dean reassured him.

            Sam closed his eyes again and instantly fell back into a deep slumber. However it felt like mere minutes, when Sam heard a creaking next to his bed. He scrunched his eyes tightly as he sensed the light flooding into his room. “Dean is that you?”

            Sam got no response, and instead an unpleasant retching noise came from the adjoining bathroom. Forcing himself to open his eyes, Sam glanced at the bathroom door that was open ajar as his brother stumbled out.

            Dean’s T-shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to his muscular frame as if it had been painted on. His face was pale, with a yellow tinge and a sheen of perspiration glimmered in the dull light.

            “Holy crap, dude. You look like a zombie,” Sam exclaimed sitting up.

            “Thanks,” Dean groaned, “you’re looking real pretty there too, sleeping beauty. “

            “I’m serious Dean,” Sam insisted walking over to help his brother. “You look really _really_ sick. There’s no way you can make it on the hunt today.”

            “I’ll be fi—“ Dean began as he was interrupted by another wave of nausea and he bolted to the bathroom.

            “Yeah you’re awesome,” Sam muttered as another awful retching noise drowned him out.

            John Winchester strode into the room, looking slightly alarmed. “Sam what’s going on?”

            “I dunno, dad,” Sam shrugged. “I guess Dean has some sort of stomach flu.”

            John walked over to the bathroom and tentatively stuck his head in the doorway. “Dean? How are you holding up?’

            Dean was still crouched over the toilet and didn’t respond; instead he waved a hand at his father as if to say, “Go away I’m fine.”

            Leaving the entrance of the bathroom, John turned to Sam. “There’s no way he can make the hunt like this.”

            Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

            “I can too!” Dean called out from the bathroom, sounding very much like he was 5 years old, instead of eighteen.

            “Seeing as you’re too busy barfing, it’s not too promising, champ.”

            “So…are we just going to wait until Dean’s better to go?” Sam cautiously asked his dad. He didn’t want to make it overly obvious that he was happy for an excuse not to go.

            “No,” John shook his head. “Too many fatalities already. If I let this go by any longer, there might be more bodies added onto a slowly increasing pile. Damn cursed objects, you just never know what it is until it’s too late.”

            “Oh,” Sam said trying to keep his tone light. “Do you need me to help you?”

            John tried to keep a surprised look off his face. Sam had never really offered to go on a hunt willingly. It was so…out of character for him. _Was he sick too?_ “No, that’s okay Sammy. I’m not really sure what we’re dealing with. I’ll call up Bobby and see if he can meet me 2 hours from here.”

            “When do you leave?” Sam asked struggling to contain his elation.

            “Supposedly within the hour,” John replied. “I’m going to call Bobby, and pack some provisions.”

            “Don’t I get any say in this?” Dean asked angrily as he staggered out of the bathroom.

            “No,” John said flatly. “You’ll only end up getting worse, and that’s the last thing we need. Just stay in bed. Sammy can look after you.”

            Now it was Sam’s turn to look surprised. “Me? Take care of Dean?”

            “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Dean cried. “I’m not frigging four, dad!”

            John bit back the urge to laugh at both boys’ reactions. “Dean, get better. That’s an order.”

            Dean glared at his father for a split second and then broke the gaze with a dejected slump of the shoulders. “Yes sir.”

            “Sam, just make sure he gets better,” John told him. “And don’t get sick, either. I can’t have both of you hurling in the backseat of the Impala.”

            “Yes sir,” Sam said eagerly. “I won’t get sick, promise.”

            An hour later, much to the chagrin of a very disgruntled Dean, John was locking up the front door giving Sam the typical rundown of the rules. “Lock all the doors, don’t let anyone in, salt all the doors and windows. If you need anything call me or Bobby.”

            “Yes sir,” Sam nodded. “Good luck.”

            “Thanks kiddo,” John smiled giving Sam a firm pat on the back. “You too. You’re gonna need it with your brother.”

            Sam grinned, as he closed the door. For the first time in what seemed like forever things felt peaceful. His dad and him were on good terms (for the moment at least) and he had the house (kind of) to himself all weekend. All her had to do was make sure Dean got better. How hard could that be?

* * *

 

            Dean was a notoriously bad patient; He couldn’t sit still for more than three damn minutes, and Sam wondered if he was doing it on purpose because dad had told him to look after Dean.

            “Dean you’ve got to stay in bed!” Sam exclaimed exasperated as he ushered his brother away from the cassette tapes on the floor.

            “But I’m bored,” Dean whined.

            “No! You’re delusional,” Sam interrupted. “Here, sit on the couch here and watch TV, and for god’s sake just rest. I’m trying to write a paper.”

            Dean allowed himself to be guided to the couch. “What’s it about?”

            “You’re asking me about homework? You really are sick.”

            “Shut up, bitch. I’m being nice and personable.”

            Sam snorted. “Mhm… we’re supposed to write an essay on the mundane or the ridiculous in our lives. It’s really supposed to mimic the writing of Neruda, we can use first person and all—“

            “Lame,” Dean interrupted.

            Sam was about to open his mouth to retort when a _ding-dong_ from the doorbell stopped him. Sam looked at Dean and mouthed ‘stay here’ a he cautiously made his way to the door. Dean tried to follow, but was too weak to stand and had to be content with craning his neck from the couch.

            Sam looked through the peephole to find their neighbor, Ms. Thierry, standing outside the door holding a dish that looked suspiciously like a casserole. “It’s just Ms. Thierry,” Sam whispered to Dean.

            “Aw Crap,” Dean mumbled. “Pretend we’re not here.”

            _Ding-Dong._

            “I think she kinda knows,” Sam sighed. Ms. Thierry meant well, but she was too nosey, too loud, and too phony for him to fully appreciate her. All she really wanted was to gossip, and in a small Montana town, everybody knew everything about _everybody._ Except the Winchesters. They’d moved into the small house on the corner in the dead of night and no one had a clue where they came from. Ms. Thierry seemed determined to find out, hence the visits and occasional goodies.

            Pulling open the door Sam forced a smile upon his face. “Ms. Thierry!” he heard himself say in a voice that was an octave too high. “How are you doing?”

            “Oh, I’m just fine, dearie,” she gushed in a way that reminded Sam of a salesperson. “I was just wondering how you three handsome fellows are doing. It’s been nearly a month since you three moved in, and you haven’t been over for dinner even once!”

            Sam forced a hollow laugh. “It’s been a bit hectic ma’am…with the moving and all.”

            “Oh you, aren’t you _precious_ ,” she cooed, oozing ‘friendly neighbor next door, please tell me all about yourself.’

            Sam inwardly groaned. Dean was going to get a kick out of ‘precious.’

            “Well, I wanted to see if your daddy was home—“

            “He’s not,” Sam said quickly. “He’s on a business trip.”

            “Oh?” Ms. Thierry inquired. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

            “Sometime Monday night, ma’am,” he responded automatically. _Here we go again,_ Sam thought to himself.

            “Well who’s going to be looking after a cute little thing like yourself, then?” Ms. Thierry asked looking like all her nosy-neighbor dreams had come true.

            “I’ll be here with my brother,” Sam told her.

            “Leaving two young boys alone,” she tutted. “How old are you, Sammy? 12?”

            “14, ma’am. And it’s Sam.” Sam’s patience was growing thin. Any more of her nosy questions and he might be inclined to close the door in her face.

            “Of course,” Ms. Thierry said absentmindedly. “Where’s Dan now?”

            “Dean. And he’s feeling a little under the weather so he’s taking a nap.”

            Ms. Thierry looked like Christmas had come early; her saccharine voice was filled with false sorrow.  “Oh no, I hope he feels better, poor thing. Without your dad I’m sure it’s tough managing the house.”

            “I’m fine. Really,” Sam insisted.

            “Nonsense,” Ms. Thierry said shoving a large casserole ( _surprise!_ ) into Sam’s hands. “I’ll be back later to check on you and your brother, dearie.”

            “I really don’t think that’s nec—“ but Ms. Thierry had already turned away and walked back to her own home.

            Sam closed the door quietly hoping Dean hadn’t heard the entire exchange, and set the casserole down on the kitchen table.

            Sadly, Sam’s hopes were destroyed when he walked into the living room to see Dean with the biggest smirk on his face.

            “Shut up,” Sam snapped.

            “I haven’t said anything,” Dean said innocently

            “Keep it that way.”

            “Yes sir, Mr. Precious,” Dean chuckled.

            “Dammit,” Sam cursed. Dean was going to give him hell.

            “Hey, swearing isn’t allowed!” Dean mock scolded. “How old do you think you are, kid? You’re only 12!”

            “I may be 12, but dad still told me to look after _you,_ ” Sam retorted. “So take a damn nap and shut up. I’m going to work on my paper.”

            Sam stalked off and could hear Dean wheezing as he attempted to laugh with a stuffy nose.

* * *

 

            Samuel Winchester

            English Honors

            Mr. Harris

            October 19, 1997

Insert Creative Title Here

            The

 

All Sam had written in 2 hours and 37 minutes was his name, a title placeholder, and the word ‘the.’ For one reason or another he just couldn’t seem to find a topic to write. _What are my surroundings? The small room I’m in? It’s plain. The house itself? It’s boring. Ms. Thierry spying over the fence? Too…suburgatory. I mean… there’s ‘ridiculous’ like what Mr. Harris is looking for, and then there’s ‘ridiculous’ like my whole damn life._ Sam stood up from his desk and stretched; his back was aching, and his neck gave a loud crack. He slipped out of his room, and tip-toed over to his sleeping brother on the couch.

            Sam tentatively placed his hand on his brother’s head. It was a mark of how sick Dean was that he didn’t flinch (or punch) him. The heat radiated off of Dean’s sweaty body. Sam slowly placed a small thermometer under his brother’s armpit. _103.5._ “Holy crap, Dean, you’re burning up,” Sam muttered gently shaking his brother awake.

            “Mmph,” Dean groaned as he tried to turn away.

            “No, you need to sit up, Dean. You need to take a lukewarm shower or something,” Sam encouraged.

            “S’lpin,” Dean mumbled, weakly swatting away Sam’s attempt to get him to sit up.

            “Dean, please,” Sam begged. “I’ll make you something to eat, what do you want?”

            “Dean opened his eyes and turned his head towards Sam. “Nothing, not hungry.”

            Sam sighed. “Well, you need to eat something light and drink a lot of water, you’re pale and dehydrated.”

            “Still look better than you,” Dean tried to smirk, but instead a pained expression crossed his face as if Sam had fed him something unpleasant.

            Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the pale green look really suits you. Now sit up, you need to take a bath, you’re burning up.”

            Slowly, Dean forced himself to roll over and inch his way up off of the itchy upholstery on the couch.

            “Let me help you stand,” Sam said trying to put Dean’s arm around his shoulders for support.

            “No,” Dean said annoyed slapping his hand. “I’m not an invalid. I can get up myself.”

            Dean lifted himself off the couch into a standing position and immediately swayed on his feet as the corner of his vision blurred.

            Sam caught Dean as he stumbled. “Sure, you’re A-Ok.”

            All Dean managed was “Bitch.”

            “I’m glad your insults haven’t gotten worse, jerk,” Sam panted as he half-dragged his older brother into the small bathroom and plopped him onto the toilet. “Here sit and give me your pants and shirt, they’re completely soaked in your own sweat.”

            Dean obliged without much of a fuss other than a glare, and Sam turned on the water to what felt like room temperature.

            Sam picked up Dean’s sweaty clothes. “I’ll leave so you can—“

            “No need,” Dean grunted as he stepped past Sam into the shower in his boxers. He shuddered violently. “’S chilly.”

            Sam open and closed his mouth a few times until he managed to splutter, “Dean what the hell? Have your brain cells completely fried? You couldn’t have waited for me to leave?”

            “Too slow,” Dean said as his teeth chattered.

            _Jesus, his brain cells really have fried._ “Ooookay then…I’m going to get you a lot of water to drink since you’re clearly very, _very_ dehydrated,” Sam told him. “What do you want to eat? And don’t say burger, because that’s way too much for you to handle right now.”

            “Lucky charms,” Dean managed to say through his teeth.

            “The cereal?” Sam asked surprised. Dean had never once requested a cereal as a preferred meal.

            “No, the actual charms,” Dean snapped. “Yes, the cereal.”

            “Well I don’t think we have any, genius,” Sam retorted. “You’ll have to settle for Raisin Bran.”

            “Ugh, that stuff tastes like shit,” Dean said disgusted. He attempted to squeeze shampoo in his hand, but a large part of it fell on the floor. “I’ll buy some after I finish showering.”

            Sam snorted. There was no way in hell Dean was leaving this house. “I highly dou—“

            Sam was interrupted by an obnoxious _ding-dong_ that echoed through the house. “Dammit. Dean, I have to get this. I think it’s annoying Ms. Thierry brining food or something.”

            Sam walked down the hall to the front door and allowed himself a moment to compose himself and plaster a real authentic genuine fake smile onto his face.

            “Hi Ms. Thierry,” Sam said smiling so widely that hi mouth hurt.

            Ms. Thierry, oblivious to Sam’s pretending, smiled back. “I’m back as promised.”

            “I can see that,” Sam said enthusiastically, his voice sounding remarkably unlike his own.

            “Oh, well, I brought you this,” Ms. Thierry said shoving a large pot into Sam’s hands. “It’s chicken soup. A little cold, so you’ll have to heat it up, but it should work all the same.”

            “Thanks, ma’am, we really appreciate—“ Sam began.

            “Well, Sammy let me just get this heated up for you then,” Ms. Thierry gushed.

            “I don’t really think that’s—“ Ms. Thierry had already pushed past Sam into the entrance of the house through.

            “Oh.” Ms. Thierry’s face fell upon seeing the Winchester household. It was like a cave with piles of junk everywhere. Socks and shoes were strewn about, books were stacked in random places, and there appeared to be something that looked suspiciously like salt covering the floor by the doors and windows.

            “Uh, just, come into the kitchen,” Sam stammered pulling her into the adjacent room.

            “Sammy,” she said casting a stern look over at him, and speaking to him like he was two. “Is this how you should treat the house while your father is away. Think of how upset he’d be to find you spilled salt all over.”

            Sam stared. _What would he think? He’d be pretty frigging happy considering he was the one who told me to make the house look like a pigsty._ “Uh, my dad? He—uh…I’ll clean up tomorrow.”

            “Well?” Ms. Thierry asked as if it were obvious.

            “Well…what?” Sam asked.

            ‘Well where is your brother?” she sounded as if she wanted to tack on ‘duh’ at the end of her question.

            “Right, my, my brother. Yes. Dean’s in the shower, trying to keep his temperature down…you know,” Sam finished lamely. He needed to get this lady out of here and fast before she got too curious and wandered over to look at the books, with family friendly titles such as _1001 Occult Objects_ and _Complete Guide to Latin Exorcisms_.

            Ms. Thierry bustled over and plucked the pot of soup from out of Sam’s hands and placed it on the stove as she turned the flame on. “There, now it’ll be done by the time Dean’s done,” she smiled sweetly, putting the lid on the soup pot. “So, Sam, how do you like school?”

            “It’s fine,” Sam repeated automatically.

            “Do you have lots of friends?” She asked looming over the small teenager as if she wanted to drain him dry of information and gossip.

            “A few,” Sam dodged the question.

            “That’s nice,” Ms. Thierry said absently. “How are your grades?”

            “Uh, my grades?” Sam asked. It seemed like a strangely intrusive question. “They’re fine.”

            “Good, good,” Ms. Thierry nodded. “How’s your brother in school?”

            “Fine,” Sam repeated once more.

            “Is he starting to look at colleges? He has to be a senior by now?”

            Sam shifted uncomfortably. College wasn’t really something any Winchester thought about. “Maybe. Dean’s good with cars.”

            “Nonsense,” Ms. Thierry said firmly. “A good education is the backbone of society.”

            _Yeah, but Hunter’s aren’t really a part of society now, are they?_ “Let me go check on Dean,” Sam muttered uncomfortably. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

            “Sam, you didn’t even offer me a drink,” Ms. Thierry admonished. “I might need to speak with your father about your manners.”

            Sam was dumbstruck. It took all his energy not to roll his eyes at her. “There’s no need, ma’am.” Sam pulled a clear cup out of a cabinet and poured her a glass of water.

            “Here,” Sam shoved the glass of water unceremoniously into her hand. “Wait.” Sam stalked off to the shower and knocked on the door. “Dean, are you done yet?”

            Before Sam could hear an answer, a loud ringing noise interrupted him. Sam raced back to the kitchen and collided with Ms. Thierry who was about to pick up the phone.

“Dammit,” Sam cursed as the glass of water Ms. Thierry was holding slipped form her grasp and shattered with a resounding _clank._

“Language, young man,” Ms. Thierry said flabbergasted. “And a perfectly good glass gone to waste.”

Sam ignored her, and answered the phone. “Hello?”

“ _Sam? It’s Bobby,”_ came a gruff voice on the other end.

“Bobby?” Sam asked surprised. “How’s dad? How’s the _business trip_ going?”

“ _There’s an annoying neighbor at your house, isn’t there?”_

“Seems like it,” Sam said nonchalantly as he used a rag to try and pick up the glass bits off of the floor.

“ _You idjit. Why’d you let her in?”_

“It wasn’t my first choice,” Sam snapped. “It just kinda happened.”

“ _How are you idjits even alive?”_

“Practice,” Sam found himself smiling. “How is dad?”

“ _Everything’s okay. We are still trying to locate the object, but we’ve narrowed our search. Your dad’s at the sheriff’s office now trying to find a common ground between all the vics. He wanted me to check in and see how you boys were holding up. How’s Dean?”_

“Doing okay,” Sam responded handing Ms. Thierry a paper towel. She gave him an annoyed look, but Sam ignored her.

“ _How’s the flu”_

“Bad, but it should go down soon enough,” Sam moved over to the stove and was bringing the pot of hot soup to the table when something outside the back window caught his eye. There was Dean attempting to get into the Impala. In his boxers. Completely soaked. “Bobby, I’ve gotta call you back,” Sam stammered. Sam slammed the phone down and rushed over to the table when he felt a sharp pain on the underside of his foot that caused him to come crashing forward, soup and all, onto Ms. Thierry.

Sam rolled off of Ms. Thierry and pulled a large shard of glass out of his foot, as crimson droplets hit the white linoleum floor. “Shit,” he murmured under his breath. “I am so sorry, Ms. Thierry.”

Ms. Thierry sat on the floor, her lips pursed into a thin line. “Well I would hope for an apolo—“

“You’ve gotta go,” Sam ordered, wincing as he stood up on his injured foot.

Ms. Thierry looked thunderstruck. “What? How dare you be so rude and—“

“Yes, I know, it’s awful,” Sam cut her off as he crossed over to the entrance of the house and opened the front door. “Goodbye.”

“Your father and I will be having a serious discussion about your manners,” Ms. Thierry said storming out.

“I’m sure you will,” Sam said closing the door on her face. He didn’t wait to hear her offended gasp, but instead ran out to the back door where the garage was.

“Dean!” Sam shouted running outside. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to buy Lucky Charms,” Dean said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re in your boxers. Wet.”

“So? They don’t care,” Dean told him.

“Yes, they do!” Sam yelled exasperated. “You’re delirious because you’re dehydrated and sick. Get inside! NOW!”

“ _Get inside! Now!”_ Dean mimicked.

“Dean!”

_“Dean!”_

“Stop it!”

_“Stop it!”_

“Are you three years old?”

_“Are you three years old?”_

“What’s the big deal with Lucky Freaking Charms?” Sam yelled pulling on his brother’s arm.

“I dunno,” Dean muttered resisting Sam’s efforts easily. “Used to eat them when we were kids.”  
            Sam stopped tugging for a moment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean said leaning against the wall of the garage.

“Why’d you stop buying them?”

“Dunno. After I started helping dad on hunts more, it just wasn’t a priority. But those are my favorites.”

“You should buy them more often,” Sam told him.

“Nah, you don’t like them all that much because you like weird healthy crap,” Dean refuted. “’Sides, they’re only fun to pick the marshmallows out of.”

Sam gave Dean a small smile. “It is okay to get stuff you enjoy once in a while, Dean. Looking out for what you like is important too, you know. Even if you do like only the terribly unhealthy processed sugar portion of the cereal.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Here we go. I’m getting really cold.” Dean, did, indeed have goose bumps all over his body.

Sam snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. Let’s get you to bed.”

* * *

 

Later that night, Sam was still staring at the blank page before him. How could he write about the absurd and not cross the line into _his_ version of absurd? If he faked a story for the essay, it might come out as clichéd or poorly written. If he wrote about how he once hid in the car while his Dad hunted down a wendigo, he might sound insane.

Sam’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar ringing noise. “Hello?” he answered.

“ _Sam.”_

“Dad, hey,” Sam greeted. It was only a matter of time before John asked about what happened and got mad.

_“Is everything ok? I heard from Bobby that your conversation got cut short.”_

Sam sighed. Here we go. “It’s not a big deal, dad…but annoying Ms. Thierry kinda barged in and wanted to talk me to death.”

“ _I specifically instructed you not to let anyone in. Ever.”_

“I know that—“

“ _Then how the hell did she get in?”_

“She kinda pushed through me,” Sam snapped, his voice rising. “What am I supposed to do? Deck an annoying neighborhood gossipmonger because she wanted to talk?”

_“Don’t answer the door next time. It’s really not that difficult.”_

“Not answering the door after she repeatedly visits is even more suspicious!”

_“Dammit, Sam. You need to learn to follow directions. You’re not three years old anymore. I expect more from you.”_

“Well you try taking care of a sick person, fending off annoying neighbors, and trying to find something edible!” Sam sneered. “I don’t know if you could do it.”

“ _That’s enough! Not another word, Sam.”_

Sam could fell his grip around the phone was painfully tight. He forced himself to loosen it, and he tried to control the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“ _Is there anything else I should know before I get home?”_

Sam closed his eyes in annoyance. What the hell else would there be? “No…well…”

“ _Spit it out.”_

“You’re going to be getting a very angry visit from Ms. Thierry at some point.”

_“Why?”_

“Because…I… spilled soup on her,” Sam said quietly.

 _“You…spilled…soup on her.”_ John’s confused voice made a small smile begin to tug at the end of Sam’s lips.

“Well, it was her fault, really. She kept trying to talk to me about school, and wanted to see the house and really she just wanted to be nosy, so I gave her water, then broke said water glass answering Bobby’s phone call, which caused me to step on glass and spill soup onto her as she complained about how I had no manners,” Sam explained all in one breath in vaguely coherent sentences.

There was a pregnant pause and Sam wondered if his dad would actually be angry. Then, a loud guffaw erupted over the other end of the phone and Sam found himself joining in. Sam stood and laughed for 30 seconds with his father, making him feel less guarded around him than he had been in ages. Sam’s laughter was loud and raucous, and shook his whole body; there was really no reason to laugh, it wasn’t funny. It was just so _absurd._

* * *

 

 

Samuel Winchester

English Honors

Mr. Harris

October 19, 1997

Microscopic

 

            The famous poet, Robert Frost debated whether the world would end in fire or in ice, but to be completely honest, this world will topple under far less pressure. I am far more in agreement with TS Eliot that the world will end, “Not with a bang but a whimper.” In the end all it took for civilization to crumble, and society to collapse was one tiny microscopic nucleic acid that is made up of single stranded RNA that isn’t even alive. The world is brought to its knees by the most base of ailments: the stomach flu…


	16. The Academic

**Chapter 16: The Academic**

It wasn’t the first time in his life that Dean Winchester was awoken to a scratching noise coming from his left. He rolled over and squinted. There was a faint light coming from his little brother’s bed, and a Sam-sized lump underneath the white covers.

“Sammy,” Dean mumbled groggily, “whatya doin’?”

The flashlight quickly flicked itself off and the room was immersed in the darkness once more. The lump stayed very still, refusing to answer Dean’s question.

“I already saw you’re awake, genius,” Dean glared. “Whatya doin it’s like 4 in the morning.”

Sam pulled the covers off himself taking a deep breath of the cool air. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

“Yeah, well maybe if your pencil wasn’t scratching so damn loud I still would be.”

Dean heard Sam sheepishly mumble, “Sorry. I was just working on some homework.”

“Homework? At 4 am? What the hell, you got a test coming up or something?” Dean asked. “If you have a test and you don’t know the material by now, you’re screwed. Hate to break it to you, Sammy.”

Sam huffed in annoyance. “It’s Sam. And I don’t have a test tomorrow for your information. I’m just getting ahead on some homework and reviewing for finals.”

“Wait—aren’t finals like 5 weeks away?”

Sam said nothing, and Dean took it as an affirmation. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You woke me in the middle of the night so you could study for something that’s weeks away. This is a new level of low, even for you geekboy.”

“I have tough classes and I wanna do well, is that a crime?” Dean could practically see his little brother sending him a classic Sam-glare.

“It becomes a crime when you wake me up.”

“Then go back to sleep!” Sam said exasperated.

“Wish I could,” Dean told him. “You’re gonna make yourself sick staying up all night doing work.”

“I’ll be fine. I was actually gonna turn in soon, anyway,” Sam lied. “Besides, I get a whole 2 ½ hours of sleep. Sometimes you and dad don’t sleep at all.”

“Yeah, well, we’re made of Kevlar and you’re made of cotton.”

Sam rolled his eyes despite Dean not being able to see. “Goodnight, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam allowed himself to sink into his bed and nestle into his pillow, which felt cool on his face. Within minutes he heard Dean’s breathing even out and he took that as a sign that his brother had fallen asleep again. Sam sighed. He really should be reviewing more for finals. It wasn’t that he was actually concerned he’d fail, but he needed good grades. They were his metaphorical golden ticket. Sam couldn’t stop replaying the conversation ha had with Mr. Wyatt in that small Truman High classroom several months ago.

_“Do you want to go into the family business?”_

_“No one’s ever asked me that before.”_

_“Well?”_

_“More than anything…no.”_

_“I don’t wanna overstep my bounds here, but, uh, you don’t_ have _to do anything you don’t wanna do. There are maybe three of four big choices that shape someone’s whole life, and you have to be the one that makes them. You seem like a great kid, Sam. Just live the life you wanna live.”_

It had never occurred to Sam he could do something other than hunting. It just wasn’t something that was plausible. He’d never even hoped for different because…hope opened room for disappointment.            

Dean hadn’t even finished high school. He had always been more devoted to the hunt than anything else. Dean took after dad that way. So, it seemed simple enough for Dean to take a test and get his GED. Dad had opposed it at first, but after a few days of Dean’s constant groveling about wanting to help with the hunts and helping track down the thing that killed mom, dad finally gave up.

Despite this, Sam was somehow the black sheep in the family. Sam rolled over, lost in thought. “ _Hey dad, I got straight As! ‘You should’ve been focusing on the hunt more not wasting your time.’ Most parents would be thrilled, instead I got extra training to make sure all the studying didn’t make me lose my touch. It’s ridiculous.”_

Sam wasn’t supposed to have had options. He was part of a three-man army on a futile quest to hunt any and all evil that would eventually end with them six feet under. It was just a fact. But now…ever since Mr. Wyatt had talked to him, Sam was beginning to see an end in sight. An end to the early morning shooting practice, an end to stitching up wounds that should be tended to by medical professionals instead of a shaky 15 year old, an end to the same motel setting, and most of all it was an end to seeing the continual fear that one day Sam would be burying his father or brother. Sam hoped his family could see reason. They had to. They were all he had left.

The only way escape was possible would be to get good grades and eventually try to get a scholarship to a decent college. _College._ It made Sam feel like throwing up, but he couldn’t tell if it was because it made him giddy or if it was because he was scared. Both, probably. College was still 3 years in the future, and the most a 15 year old could do was study hard. So that’s what Sam Winchester would do: study hard.

* * *

 

Dean awoke instantly to Sam’s 6:15 alarm. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the obnoxious amount of light in the room, the alarm still blaring.

“Sammy!” Dean growled. “Turn the damn alarm off!”

Sam didn’t respond, so Dean threw his pillow at him.

“uuuhhhhh,” Sam groaned. “stoppit.”

“Sam! Alarm!”

Sam smacked the digital alarm clock with a little more force than necessary, as he tried to open his eyes. It was proving to be a difficult task. His brain felt fuzzy and a rush of dizziness hit him when he tried to sit up. Okay, so maybe running on 2 hours of sleep wasn’t such a good thing…

“Are you alive, Sammy?” Dean chuckled.

Squinting, Sam threw Dean’s pillow back at him. “I’m going to take a shower. Be ready in 15 to take me to school, ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, quit your nagging,” Dean said waving him away. Dean watched his little brother drag himself up and slowly force himself into the bathroom. Dean didn’t know what it was, but Sam was running himself into the ground. The kid always liked school, but over the last several months Dean noticed that that was all he did. The kid looked like a freaking vampire for god’s sake.  The kid needed to see some sunshine or something…vitamin D or whatever. Sammy had been really moody—well more moody than usual. His ‘rebellious teen’ phase was no longer outright shouting matches, it had evolved into him sulking and refusing to speak to anyone for days on end and locking his doors. Fan-freaking-tastic. Dean rolled out of bed and threw on some jeans and an old ACDC T shirt. It didn’t matter if he looked decent—he wasn’t getting out of the car anyway. He made his way into the kitchen and was about to find something to eat when Sam emerged from the shower with his mop of wet hair dripping onto his clean shirt.

“Did you even bother using a towel?” Dean asked.

Sam gave him a gratuitous glare as he reached for a piece of toast. “I’m in a hurry. I actually care about being on time, Dean.”

“You need a girlfriend or something. Maybe then you’d lighten up.”

“You’re hilarious,” Sam said pulling on his coat.

“I’m serious!” Dean walked out the front door. “You’ve had a stick up your ass for a while now.”

Sam slammed the front door and slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. “I’ve been busy with school.”

“There’s busy,” Dean murmured turning on the radio, “and then there’s you.”

“Whatever,” Sam said turning to face the window.

“Seriously, is there any girl you’ve got your eye on?”

Sam groaned. “I’m not having this talk with you.”

“Why not?” Dean smirked overtaking a car on the road. “Embarrassed about your lack of _experience_?”

“Wha—No!” Sam spluttered.

“So you _do_ have experience?” Dean asked coyly.

“That’s not—I don’t—I mean—I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU ABOUT THIS!”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Okay, okay, untwist your panties Samantha. I won’t press it.”

“Thank you,” Sam huffed as Dean pulled into the school lot.

Sam exited the vehicle quickly, as if fearful to be seen being dropped off, so Dean made sure to shout, “Don’t forget to take your medication for that rash!”

Sam shot him a quick “I hate you” glare and entered the building with a pink tinge in his cheeks.

Dean chuckled and headed back to the small apartment they were staying at. With dad out on a hunt he was in charge of research while Sam was at school, as well as buying food and other necessary items around the house. Dean knew he wasn’t as smart as Sammy. The kid was a walking encyclopedia. So, he decided to do what was _practical_ : Join dad, help out more, and be there as backup. That was the point to all of this, right? Find the thing that killed mom? Stop others from going through the same hell they went through? Save people, hunt things…the family business. It was so simple to Dean; this is where he belonged.

* * *

 

Sam sat in his 11:30 honors history class furiously taking notes on the unification of the Roman Empire. History was a genuinely enjoyable subject for Sam, and it wasn’t until the bell sounded for lunch that he realized class was over.

Sam was packing his books when his teacher, Mr. Jeffries stopped him. “Sam, are you ready for tonight?”

‘Tonight?” Sam asked confused.

“The debate tournament,” Mr. Jeffries clarified.

Sam’s eyes went wide. “That’s tonight?”

Mr. Jeffries forehead crinkled in concern. “Yes, Sam, today. You knew about it two days ago at the last meeting…are you feeling ok?”

“Yes! Just a little tired, but I’m fine,” Sam assured him.

“Alright, rest up in time later tonight. I’ll see you in the auditorium at 4:30, Sam,” Mr. Jeffries said with a smile. Mr. Jeffries liked Sam a lot; he had the right amount of intellect and street smarts that made him an excellent debater. In fact, the so-called debate wasn’t a debate at all; it was an awards assembly. In the short month and a half that Sam had been at the Woodlake High, he’d impressed all of his teachers and he had more than earned his respect on the debate team. Sam was quiet early on, but his natural ability to argue for certain points in history class had led to Mr. Jeffries asking Sam to join debate. He was reluctant, but eventually gave in which led to two incredible victories, largely due to Sam’s abilities. Awards assemblies were often kept a secret from the students, but parents were all sent letters informing them. Sam’s father hadn’t responded to the letter, however. Mr. Jeffries figured he’d just call his home later; no parent would want to miss their kid getting an awesome award.

Sam nodded, and exited the room as quickly as possible. Sam’s mind raced as he tried to contemplate how he could have forgotten the debate tournament. He’d just had a meeting two days ago and was definitely aware they had a meeting. This was just _awesome._ The lack of sleep was making him spacey, and now he’d have to call and make up some stupid excuse because if Dean thought he was already too invested in school he’d downright think he was nuts now. And dad…Sam didn’t even want to think about his dad’s reaction.

Sam walked against the crowds of people until he could find the one school payphone located at the very end of the school near the office. Sighing, he deposited 2 quarters and dialed the apartment number. It rang twice before Dean picked up.

“ _Hello?”_

“Dean, it’s Sam.”

Dean’s voice instantly got a concerned tone in it. “ _Is everything ok? Do you need me to come and get you? What’s wrong?”_

“Nothing like that, calm down,” Sam assured him. “It’s just that I might be late today.”

“ _Late?”_ Dean asked confused. “ _Why?”_

“I…uh,” Sam stammered. He hadn’t fully thought of an excuse Dean would buy and let him get away with. “I am…working on a group project. It’s due tomorrow and I haven’t had a chance to work on it with my group.”

_“Okay…”_

Dean sounded suspicious, Sam cursed silently. “It’s not a big deal, I just need to be here until 7 at the latest.”

_“Whoa, that’s a long group project…are you sure there aren’t any…ulterior motives?”_

“Like what?” Sam asked nervously.

_“Oh, I dunno. Like a girl.”_

“No, Dean,” Sam hissed. “Some of us are just responsible and do our work.”

_“So is it a guy?”_

“NO!” Sam shouted. A few people stared and Sam turned and gave an embarrassed smile. He turned back to the phone.

_“Geez, calm down, I was just kidding. You’re so freaking uptight.”_

“Just pick me up when I’m done at 7, ok?” Sam told him beginning to get annoyed.

_“You got it, sir. Is there anything else you’d like? Your underwear dry-cleaned?”_

“In a perfect world,” Sam told him. “I’ll talk to you later.” Sam hung up the phone and sighed. Dean could be such a pain in the ass when he wanted to be. Now the biggest issue would be getting some shut-eye. Sam had a free period at the end of the day. He could take a short nap, wake up refreshed and be able to prepare a little for the debate tournament. Easy as pie.

* * *

 

Dean was on the verge of falling asleep; he was researching a case for his dad and he found that he’d read the same paragraph on ghouls four times. His eyes glazed over and his jaw was slack. Dean felt himself leaning on the table. He’d only close his eyes to rest them. He’d open them again in a minute…

_RING_

A shrill ringing had Dean gasping as he scrambled to get up. If this was Sam calling again, he was gonna kill the little geek.

“Hello?”

“ _Hi, this is Mr. Jeffries calling from Woodlake High School. May I speak to Mr. Winchester?”_

Panic flooded Dean. What had happened to make a teacher call? “He’s at work right now. I’m Dean, Sam’s older brother. If there’s an emergency—“

“ _No, no, nothing like that. I didn’t mean to worry you,”_ Mr. Jeffries rushed. _“I’m calling to inform you that Sam is going to receive an award for his achievements on the debate team. He believes he has a tournament today, but it’s really an awards assembly. I sent a letter a few weeks back but never heard back, so I figured I’d call.”_

Dean was at a loss for words. Since when did Sam do debate? More importantly, since when did he keep things a secret from Dean? “Uh, y—yeah the debate award. Of course. I’ll be there. What time does the assembly start?”

_“At 4:30 this afternoon. It’ll be held in the auditorium.”_

“Thanks, see you there.” Dean hung up the phone and began digging in trashcans for the letter that the school had sent out. He couldn’t seem to find anything…unless his dad had already picked up the letter. Dean pushed the thought out of his mind. If his dad had found the letter he would have said something. He would’ve been really proud of Sammy.

Dean sighed. What concerned him most was why Sammy never told him about the debate team. Sammy used to love telling him about his nerdy crap. Now he was a regular Salinger: a recluse who didn’t really want anyone to interfere. Hopefully if Dean showed up at the awards ceremony, Sam would stop feeling moody or whatever the hell it was Sam felt. Ugh. Feelings.

* * *

 

Sam made his way to the library during his free period thanking his lucky stars that he had time for a quick nap. How the hell was he supposed to debate some current event if he hadn’t even realized there was a tournament? Usually he would’ve worn nicer clothing. Sam grimaced, hoping his button down and jeans would be okay.

Sam tiptoed to the very back of the library where school archives were kept and allowed himself to slump to the floor. Nobody bothered going to that section, so Sam would be free to snooze uninterrupted. Sam closed his eyes and was out before he had time to fully get comfortable.

* * *

 

Dean spent a gratuitous amount of time in the bathroom trying to plan how he should look at Sam’s school. He considered going casual, but he thought his faded AC/DC shirt and torn jeans wouldn’t really help stop Sam from sulking. Dean decided that a casual pair of khakis and a button down with the sleeves rolled up should be enough. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere that fancy; it was a high school that smelled like feet and dirty gym clothes…the epitome of glamor.

Dean took the short drive down to Sam’s school and slipped into the auditorium. It was exactly 4:30. Dean smirked; his timing was impeccable. The row of kids who were going to win awards was seated at the bottom near the stage. Dean craned his neck but couldn’t catch sight of Sam. The lights dimmed, so Dean gave up looking and allowed himself to settle down.

A man who Dean assumed was the principal trotted onto the stage. He had a small, round body and he looked to be in his early 70s. He cleared his throat and began, “I want to start off by welcoming everyone to the Woodlake Awards Assembly. Here at Woodlake we value academics…”

Dean tuned the Principal’s wheezy voice out. He new it would be a while before they got to ‘W’ for ‘Winchester.’ He decided to sneak a peek at the people around him; he was relieved most of the people had decided to come in nice-casual attire as well. _I am frickin velvety smooth._

50 minutes passed until finally, the ‘W’ section was reached. Dean sat up a little straighter as he strained himself to catch a glimpse of his little brother.

Mr. Jeffries took the stage and began to speak. “This next award goes out to a student who is relatively new at Woodlake…”

Dean smiled. Sammy was about to receive some fancy pants award. Dean couldn’t remember receiving any awards other than wrestling awards during his brief stint at the boy’s home years ago.

“…This boy was a student in my history class. He was quiet and thoughtful, but when he did open his mouth he always had something insightful to say. He wrote the most well researched essay on the Salem Witch Trials that I have read in years. I convinced him to join debate because his ability to concoct an argument in a matter of seconds was so impressive, and he has not disappointed since. He’s participated in two debate tournaments and taken first place at both. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t been here long, his research, hard work, and determination make him my obvious choice for the Woodlake Debate Award. Sam Winchester, please come up here and receive your award.”

There was a round of polite applause and Dean let out a whoop. Sam took first in two tournaments? It was the secret life of Sammy, apparently.

Dean waited for his brother to walk on stage, but nobody appeared.

Mr. Jeffries nervously called out, “Sam Winchester?”

* * *

 

In what seemed like merely seconds, Sam’s eyes snapped open as a librarian gently tapped his shoulder.

“Young man, we’re getting ready to close soon,” the librarian told him.

“Oh,” Sam groaned. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hold you back.”

“It’s no bother,” she smiled.

Suddenly, the librarian’s words seemed to click in Sam’s brain. “Wait! Did you say close?”

“Yes, it’s nearly 5:30…” the librarian responded concerned. “Is something wrong?”

Sam let out a small yelp. “No! I’m just late! Gotta go, have a nice evening!” The youngest Winchester grabbed his bag and bolted before he could hear the librarian’s response.

Sam was running as fast as he could, but the auditorium was on the other side of campus. He felt a hollow feeling inside. Mr. Jeffries and the rest of the team were going to hate him for missing an hour of the tournament. _God I’ve really screwed this one up,_ Sam thought as he burst through the auditorium out of breath, with a loud bang as the doors hit the wall. Sam couldn’t tell quite what was happening since a bright light shone in his face and he had to squint his eyes. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from running, and he was about to start spewing apologies when he noticed there was an auditorium full of people staring at him.

Mr. Jeffries spoke from the stage, “Sam, there you are! Come on up and accept your award.” Sam thought he sounded relieved more than anything.

Sam stood rooted on the spot. _Award?_

“Sam, please come on up,” Mr. Jeffries repeated again.

Slowly Sam made his way onto the stage to accept his award. As he leaned in to shake hand with Mr. Jeffries Sam mumbled, “What is this for? I had to go to the bathroom and missed the intro.”

Mr. Jeffries squeezed his hand and handed him the certificate. “Debate, of course.”

Sam was about to make his exit from the stage when a voice from the crowd shouted, “Way to be fashionably late!”

The crowd of people erupted into a unanimous laughter and Sam felt himself turn scarlet. He searched the crowd for the heckler as the blood continued to rush into his face.

“Over here!” shouted the voice again. “Punctuality was never your forte, kid!”

It was Dean sitting in the center of the audience with the biggest smile on his face. Sam exited the stage thoroughly embarrassed, but not so much in a “I want to kill in your sleep” way, but a “God my brother is such a jerk” way. Sam quietly made his way to the first row of the auditorium clutching his certificate as he waited for the assembly to be over.

15 minutes later the principal said some generic closing words about honor and academics and perseverance or something, and Dean made his way over to Sam. In a very un-Dean like move he gave Sam a brief, but strong hug. Sam didn’t even have time to process the fact that Dean was hugging him before it was over.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“Is that really you in there?”

“Shut up.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Cristo,” Sam whispered.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” Dean said in disbelief. “A guy does one nice thing and this is the thanks he gets?”

“Just making sure… I mean, that’s just not really your style,” Sam laughed.

“I should’ve just left you here to walk home,” Dean grumbled.

“How did you know I was getting an award?” Sam asked. “I didn’t even know.”

“Got a call from your teacher. Jeffries I think?”

“No wonder he asked if I was ready for the tournament today…”

“Yeah, you’re a gullible one, aren’t you?” Dean smirked. “C’mon let’s go back to the car and get food, I’m starved.”

“When aren’t you?” Sam smiled as he followed suit. “It’s like you’ve got tapeworm.”

“Laugh all you want, but I’m not gonna be the one who stays a midget forever. Growing boys need their fuel.”

“Hey! I grew two inches in the last year!” Sam protested.

“And where does that leave you? 5’4’’?”

“5 ft 6, actually,” Sam retorted.

Dean slid into the driver seat of the Impala but didn’t start the car. Instead he fiddled with his seatbelt. Finally he muttered what had been on his mind all day. “So…why didn’t you tell me you were on a debate team?”

Sam sighed. He didn’t really want to discuss this, but he figured he owed Dean at least an attempted explanation. “Look, I didn’t honestly know how you would react. I know I’ve literally been doing homework all the time and dad gives me crap for not being more focused on the hunt as it is… I thought if I told you, that would just be one more thing I’d be doing to waste everyone’s time.”

“You’ve gotta give me more credit than that, Sammy,” Dean mumbled. “Yes, you do study all the frickin time. Yes, you do get distracted on the hunt. Yes, it does get in the way of things. But…that’s your skill. You’re the friendly neighborhood geekboy. Sam. You’re the best damn researcher I’ve ever met, and I’m happy you found a way to use it at school.”

“I—I just didn’t think you’d care. It’s just school,” Sam replied feeling horribly.

“But schools important to you, so why wouldn’t it be important to me?” Dean asked slightly offended. “I mean yeah, I’m not the greatest academic model around here, but do you honestly think I would have wanted to not be invited to your debates?”

“No—that’s not what I meant Dean,” Sam struggled. “I just—I just…”

“Stop right there,” Dean told him. “I’m going to say this once and if you ever tell anyone I said this I will end you, but… I’m proud of you. Really damn proud. I don’t know what made you think otherwise, but I have _never_ been disappointed in you. Is that clear?”

Sam opened and closed his mouth as he struggled to gain some composure. He probably looked like a fish out of water gasping for air. “I—uh, yes. Yes it’s clear.” Maybe his dad was disappointed, but how could he have lumped Dean with dad? Sure, Dean wanted to emulate their dad, but his priorities were always slightly different.

“Enjoy school while you can,” Dean told him. “It’ll fly by.”

Sam’s face faltered slightly. Dean wouldn’t be in agreement with him on his greater goal. Sam was yearning to tell Dean about how he wanted to go to college and get a degree and have a job and _life._ How he wanted to end the godforsaken “family business”…But it wasn’t the time or place. Besides, Sam knew whom Dean sided with on this issue. He desperately just wanted approval from his family and an ally.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, however, Sam swallowed and mumbled, “Yeah, time’s crazy that way.”

“What do you say we go out to eat?” Dean asked stating the car. “Somewhere with salad? So it can match the lovely tomato hue your face was back in the auditorium?”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Sam groaned. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Only the best for you, bitch.”

* * *

 

1 week later

One night after John had returned from a hunt, Dean cornered him in the kitchen.

“Sam’s asleep early. It’s only 11:30,” Dean commented.

“Yeah?” John asked looking up from some case files. “Had he been up late before?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean said casually taking a seat at the kitchen table with him. “He’s really good at school work and he’s a frigging genius when he wants to be.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” John smiled.

“Dad, don’t. I swear, his head’s big enough after winning that debate award,” Dean told him.

“Award?” John asked.

“Yeah. Apparently Sammy’s some hotshot at debating or something,” Dean replied.

“Really?” John snorted. “Well it makes sense. He’s had a lot of practice. He’s been fighting every word I say since he was 12.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, that’s true. He’s a stubborn ass. He was so stubborn he didn’t tell any of us he was even on the debate team…he had some weirdo idea that we’d be disappointed or something.”

“Why would we be disappointed?”

“Well…he mentioned how he didn’t do as much to help on the hunts…”

“Tell your brother to stop being melodramatic and that we’re all proud of him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. “The school apparently sent a letter to this address telling us about the awards assembly, but we never got it.”

“Strange,” John agreed. “I didn’t get anything… I’m going to take a leaf out of Sammy’s book and turn in early. I’m beat.”

“Alright, night dad.”

“Goodnight, son.”

John lay on the couch pretending to sleep as his mind replayed his conversation with Dean. The letter the school sent was in his journal hiding between two pages that detailed how to kill a werewolf. John wasn’t disappointed in Sam, he was really proud of the fact that he was so smart. Sam misread his emotion. He was _afraid._ Every minute Sam spent with his nose in a book, was a moment he was vulnerable. John knew that by trying to keep Sam safe he was inevitably alienating his youngest who desired freedom of choice…but John couldn’t deal with the fact that if Sam got hurt and he could have done something it would be his fault. Of course he wanted to be there for Sam’s award, but there were people being ripped to shreds 3 hours away. How could he choose between an award and the lives of innocent people? John sighed as he rolled over. It was too difficult to make these decisions. He could keep Sam safe and have him resent him, or he could allow him to pursue his interests and take the risk. _Mary what do I do?_ Mary. That stiffened John’s resolve. He would not let anything else hurt his family if he could stop it. He just wouldn’t. With time he hoped Sam would learn to see why he did the things he did. John took a deep breath and allowed darkness to overcome him as he dozed off. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for not updating this in so long! I planned on updating weeks ago, but the end of the semester was absolutely crazy. From now on I plan on updating a chapter a week until I am done with this story. So, hopefully, another chapter will be up Thursday! Any grammar errors are my own, since I was in a rush to publish this.


	17. Day of the Dead

**Chapter 17: Day of the Dead**

 

            Noise was something that became second nature to Sam Winchester after being trained to be in touch with the slightest change in sound all his life. The clanging lockers that were being slammed shut by the sea of students eager to leave school didn’t faze Sam, just as it didn’t faze him when his friend Jerry threw a football at his head and he easily caught it without looking up from his pre-calculus textbook.

“Dude! I’d ask how you caught that without looking…but I’ve just kinda learned to expect it from you,” Jerry said sitting down next to him.

“I’m a Jedi,” Sam told him still scribbling notes in the margins of the textbook.

Jerry snorted. “Yeah, sure.” He slammed Sam’s book shut on his hand and pulled it out of his grasp.

“Hey! Give that back!” Sam yelled grabbing Jerry’s coat sleeve.

“You need to chill out more,” he said waving the book just out of Sam’s reach. “And I’m trying to give you a perfect opportunity to relax more!”

“How so?” Sam asked as he tugged on Jerry’s coat harder.

“Tomorrow, huge party at Christina’s house. I hear she thinks you’re quite the looker. I dunno why… So, you gonna go?”

“Christina said that?” Sam asked as he managed to yank the book out of his friend’s hand. “Parties aren’t really my scene.”

“Aw, c’mon! It’s a huge day of the dead party and it’s supposed to be fun,” Jerry pleaded.

“Day of the dead?” Sam laughed. “Do any of you even celebrate day of the dead?”

“Yes, we’ll pour libations out for the dead or something,” Jerry rolled his eyes. “Who cares? It’s a party!”

“Wait…” Sam told him. “What day is tomorrow?”  
            “November 2nd.”

Sam went quiet, which Jerry interpreted as a good thing. “It’s a Friday and everything! It won’t get in the way of school or anything. What do you say?”

“I can’t,” Sam got up abruptly. “I’ve gotta go, my ride’s here.”

Jerry’s face fell. “Uh—ok, Sam. See you tomorrow.”

Sam nodded as he walked away. _How could I have forgotten tomorrow was November 2 nd. Shit. _

Sam heard the familiar roar of the Impala behind him, and he didn’t even bother turning to make sure. He could hear The Rolling Stones blasting from the Impala with the windows still rolled up.

He climbed into the passenger seat and groaned. “’Paint It, Black’ again, Dean?”

Dean turned the volume up with a smirk. “You can’t always get what you want, Sammy.”

“Oh shut up,” Sam huffed turning the radio off.

“Geez, what’s up with you Samantha? Not get enough beauty rest or something?”

“I got invited to a party,” Sam said abruptly.

Dean laughed. “You? At a party? No wonder you look like someone kicked your puppy. You might be forced to socialize and leave the books behind, geekboy.”

“It’s tomorrow,” Sam said in a monotone.

Dean shot a glance at his little brother from the driver’s seat. “Ah. I see.”

“Yeah.” Sam let out a snort of disgust. “You know, in Hispanic cultures November 2nd is day of the dead. People bring food and gifts to the burial place of their loved ones, so the dead can celebrate.”

Dean refused to look Sam in the eye. “Thanks for the history lesson, Poindexter.”

Sam stared at Dean hoping his brother would turn and look at him so he wouldn’t have to ask the question that had been on his mind. Dean, however, was very interested in following the rules of the road for the first time in his life.

Sam cleared his throat. “So…what’s Dad up to?”

“He’s out.”

“Where?” Sam asked already knowing the answer.

“I dunno,” Dean lied.

 _Bullshit._ “Sure,” Sam mumbled under his breath. His dad was most likely on a grief-induced bender that seemed to happen every year on the anniversary of Mary Winchester’s death. For roughly 3 days his dad would drink starting at 7 am and continue until he eventually just passed out. Those three days alone were some of the most stressful days of the year. Sam didn’t know how Dean could take it all so well. Half the time Sam ended up hiding in his room leaving Dean to deal with Dad. Eventually Dean would come into his shared room with Sam and talk about whatever stupid things came to his mind to try and distract him. Dean really didn’t deserve that, but Sam was grateful nonetheless.

“Just drop it, Sam.” Dean said harshly. He softened his tone and gave Sam a small smile. “You know, it would be fine if you went to that party. Where is it anyway?”

Sam sighed. Dean would defend dad to the death. “It’s at this girl Christina’s house. It’s supposed to be some big thing or whatever.”

“Christina?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Is she hot?”

“You have a one-track mind, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes. “She is pretty, though.”

“Are you into her?” There was a devilish grin making its way onto Dean’s face.

“Oh god Dean, let it go.”

“You’re disappointing me here, Sammy. Winchesters are supposed to be the heroes that swoop in, save the girl and get the kiss. I bet you haven’t even hooked up with anyone yet, have you?”

Sam felt himself involuntarily blushing. The first and only experience he’d had with girls had been when he kissed Amy Pond, who later turned out to be a Kitsune with a kill-happy mom. _That was a stellar first date._ “That’s none of your business.”

“Heh. That’s what I thought.”

Sam didn’t know exactly what his brother was thinking, but he doubted he was ever going to since the Impala pulled into the driveway of the run-down house they were living in. It was on the edge of town and so incredibly old, Sam was surprised it was still inhabitable. That made it perfect for the Winchesters though; no one questions when you pay for a month’s rent in cash with no background check.

“C’mon,” Dean told him.

Sam grabbed his bag and made his way up the front steps of the rickety porch. He entered the house quietly in case his dad was around; John Winchester wasn’t the nicest when drunk.

“Nobody’s home,” Dean called from his room that he shared with Sam.

Sam tried not to let out a sigh of relief since Dean would just get on his case. “Okay.” Sam flopped on his bed, immediately opening his calculus book. “I’m gonna be doing some homework if you need me.”

Sam could’ve sworn Dean muttered something like ‘nerd’ under his breath, but he couldn’t be sure since Dean put on some headphones and was listening to his Walkman.

 _Find the limit of x if…_ Sam did his homework quietly, wondering how long it would last.

* * *

 

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he tensed as he automatically reached for the gun he slept with under his pillow. He could hear clumsy footsteps outside his room that sounded like small hordes of elephants stomping around. He sighed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was just his dad making his way home after day 1 of his drinking binge. Dean turned and looked at Sam. From what he could tell, his little brother remained fast asleep.

Dean glanced at the digital clock next to his bed. _2:47 am. That’s nice._ Slowly, Dean crept out of bed to help his stumbling father. Every step he took let out a loud creak in protest. The old house clearly just wanted everyone to go back to bed. Dean found John lying on the moth-eaten couch in the living room. His eyes were half-closed and it looked like he was asleep.

Dean tiptoed over to his dad with caution. Even inebriated, Dean knew his dad could put up a mean fight if he was startled. Surprisingly, John didn’t even flinch when Dean whispered “dad?”

Making his way through the darkness, Dean reached his dad’s feet. He carefully removed his dad’s leather boots and placed them gently on the floor. His dad groaned and rolled over.

In the comfort of the darkness where he was sure no one could hear, Dean whispered, “I miss her too, dad.”

* * *

 

Sam awoke later than he usually did for school. It was 7:30 when he finally looked at his alarm. “Crap!”

Without taking any time to shower, Sam grabbed the first ratty grey T-shirt he could find and threw on a pair of jeans. “Dean! Get up, I’m late!”

“Mmm,” Dean groaned from his bed.

“Seriously, Dean!” Sam shouted. “I’ve gotta go in 5 or I’ll be late.”

“Alright, I’m getting up,” Dean pried the covers off of himself as if it were torturous to do so. “Go eat something quickly, I’ll be there in 2.”

Sam peered in the living room, but couldn’t find his dad. _Thank God._ However, Sam’s relief didn’t last for long. The smell hit his nose before he even entered the kitchen; stale beer and cheap whiskey created a pungent aroma. At the circular kitchen table sat John Winchester drinking a glass of amber liquid. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was disheveled.

Sam’s breath was caught in his throat. _Dammit._ “Hi dad,” he said with a false sense of happiness.

John grunted in acknowledgment.

 _Well, it could be worse._ Sam poured himself a glass of Orange juice and impatiently waited for Dean. The less time he was around his dad in this state, the better.

“S’mmy,” John slurred.

“Yeah, dad?”

“Pour me an’thr drink,” John held up his cup expectantly.

Sam stared. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place; he didn’t want to give his dad more, yet if he didn’t he knew it would only piss him off. “How about a glass of water?”

“No!” John slammed the glass on the table. “I don’ wan’ water. Pour me a damn drink.”

Sighing, Sam poured his dad two fingers of whiskey. John easily downed them in one gulp. “More.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam tested.

“Jus’ follow the damn order for once,” John spat.

Sam filled a glass with water and placed it next to his dad. “Drink this, and I swear I’ll pour you more.”

“I don’ need you t’ tell me wha’ to do.” John reached for the bottle of Jack, but Sam pulled it out of his reach.

“C’mon dad,” he tried again.

“Shuddup S’m.”

“Doesn’t this same routine get old to you?” Sam asked quietly. “Every year it’s the same thing…we all wish she was here, dad.”

Sam barely had time to move out of the way before the glass filled with water shattered upon impact with the tile floor. “SHUDDUP!” John roared. “Jus’ shut your damn mouth and follow one fuckin’ order!”

“Go to hell.” Sam knew his dad wasn’t in the right mind, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, dad! She wasn’t only your wife! She was my mom and Dean’s mom, too! But do we get a weekend long field trip with Uncle Jack? No! Because we remember and move on, like _normal_ people do!”

“How dare you!” John stood up and with an incredible ease flipped the glass kitchen table he was sitting at scattering glass all over the floor. “So easy for _you_ to forget, ya didn’ even know her. You go on wishin’ for normal after wha’ happn’d? You can’t follow simple instructions and you’re holdin’ all of us back from finding the thing that got her!”

“No, dad!” Sam shouted losing any restraint had previously shown. “You’re an obsessed self-absorbed narcissist who doesn’t care about anyone but himself! This is your revenge mission! Not mine, not Dean’s!”

Dean had raced downstairs when he heard the table break. “Hey!” he shouted. “That’s enough!”

Sam and John both ignored him as they continued to shout at each other.

“Do you know what most parents do when their kid’s are scared? Comfort them! Not give them a gun and shove them further into the darkness!” Sam couldn’t stop all of his bottled anger from spilling out. “Not much of a father, are you? We’re people! We’re not invincible and we’re not a goddam army!”

John staggered forward and had grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt, but Sam was determined not to flinch or look away. He stared into his dad’s eyes, and hoped his dad could feel the anger radiating off of him.

Dean stepped forward and placed himself between John and Sam. “Cut it out! Both of you!” He pushed them apart with some force.

There was a heavy silence that was filled with only heavy breathing from all three Winchesters.

“You’re lucky your brother’s around,” John hissed. “Dean knows how to follow or’drs. At least one of you isn’ a failure.” He didn’t wait for Sam to replyas he gruffly pushed past Sam and Dean and walked into his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t see anything but the white-hot rage that was coursing through him. All he wanted to do was take a swing at something. He felt Dean’s firm grip on his shoulder steer him out the door of the house and into the Impala.

Dean started the car and allowed the music to fill up the silence. The familiar sound of Metallica blasted through the speakers while Dean hummed along. He had only gotten the tail end of the fight, but he could tell both Sam and his Dad were going to kill each other if he didn’t intervene. He cursed himself for not have stopping it sooner. _I knew this shit would happen, too. Dammit._ It was difficult for Dean to do much without choosing sides, though. No matter what he did someone was going to end up hurt.

Dean pulled into the school, but it was empty; Sam was late for sure. “Hey, on the bright side, you don’t have to deal with annoying crowds.”

Sam didn’t say anything as he grabbed his bag and exited the Impala. However, before he left he called over his shoulder, “Don’t bother picking me up today. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to the party tonight after all.”

Dean sat in the car flabbergasted. He didn’t really blame Sam for not wanting to be around dad, but it almost felt like he was ditching him. Dean turned on Metallica again. _Here’s to another day in paradise._

* * *

 

Sam cornered Jerry at the end of English. “Hey! Jerry!”

“Hey, Sam! What’s up?” he asked. “I’ve gotta get to math…”

“Oh, it’s nothing too important,” Sam clarified. “I was just wondering if the invite to Christina’s party is still open.”

Jerry smiled. Thank god Sam finally pulled his nose out of a book for one day. “Totally. It’d be awesome if you came.”

“Great,” Sam told him. “Do you know if I could hang out with you after school until the party tonight?”

Jerry scratched his head. Sam never went anywhere when he invited him. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t Sam. “Uh, sure. I mean, I’m just goin’ home after school—“

“That sounds great,” Sam cut him off with a smile. “See you after school.”

Jerry watched the new and improved Sam Winchester walk away in disbelief. What the hell had happened to him?

* * *

 

Sam liked Jerry’s house a lot. It was a typical suburban house; it looked exactly like every other house on the block right down to the small patch of green grass and perfectly painted white fence. It was everything the Winchesters hated; he loved it.

Sam and Jerry had been playing video games on Jerry’s old Nintendo 64. Sam wasn’t bad, but Jerry was a pro. It felt good to play a game for fun and lose without getting yelled at. A knock on the door interrupted the boys and Jerry’s mom popped her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt you boys, but I brought snacks,” she said placing a plate of chicken nuggets on Jerry’s desk.

Sam stared at Jerry’s mom as if she were a mystical thing about to disappear. “Thanks ma’am. That’s really nice of you.”

Mrs. Byrd smiled. “It was no problem dear. Have fun, boys!”

“Thanks mom,” Jerry mumbled still focused on the game.

Sam’s concentration had been broken, however. Is that what normal families did? Make snacks for each other and smile like it was a total joy? Sam couldn’t help but wonder if that was what his life would have been with his mom. Sure, he’d never known her…but maybe she would’ve wanted something _different_ for her son. Sam’s train of thought was interrupted when Jerry successfully beat him at Donkey Kong.

“Hah! Take that!”

“You are the champ,” Sam conceded.

“Damn straight,” Jerry grinned. “Wanna go again?”

* * *

 

9:30 came plenty quickly and Sam found himself nervously flattening his bangs as Jerry drove parked outside Christina’s house. Sam could hear the music blasting the top hits of 1999, and he smiled in spite of himself. Dean would’ve hated the music. Christina’s house was a lavish white house with Greek-style pillars that made Sam feel like he would be charged for even walking to close to the property. _Play it cool, Sam. Your first party is nothing to be nervous about. You’ve hunted werewolves and wendigos and you’re nervous for a party? Get a grip._

“C’mon, Sam,” Jerry gestured leading him through the back door to the party area. Sam couldn’t help but gasp. The house was decked out in tons of skulls and festive decorations that made Sam feel like Party City threw up. The pool was changing colors due to some flashing lights, and different patterns and shapes were created to make the pool look like an ocean. There were two long tables with food and drinks that would have fed a family of 3 for a month.

“Dude,” Sam whispered to Jerry. “You never said Christina was loaded. Where the hell are her parents? And how’d she get the money to do this?”

Jerry shrugged. “Her parents are pretty relaxed about this sort of thing. I think it’s their second honey moon and they went to Cabos or something, so Chirstina got the house to herself.”

Sam snorted in disbelief. “This is beyond anything I—“

His sentence was cut short as someone had rushed up and tackled him with a hug. “Sam I’m so glad you made it!”

Sam found himself staring at Christina, who looked genuinely pleased to see him. “Yeah? I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m gonna go…over there,” Jerry said patting Sam on the back.

“Here, hold my cell phone,” Sam told Jerry. “I don’t know if my pockets are big enough.”

“Sure thing, dude. Have fun,” Jerry winked.

Sam had only gone to Whitehill High for 5 weeks, but Christina had sat behind him in an Honors British Literature class and she had been nice and given him her notes on what he’d missed all semester. She had ringlets of golden hair and a cute button nose, but her physical features weren’t what Sam had liked about her. She was genuinely nice and incredibly smart. They had done a fiction unit, and her short story was the best student written fiction piece Sam had ever read. However, outside of class he hadn’t really gotten much of a chance to talk to her.

“So how are you tonight?” she asked.

 _Shitty._ “Great,” Sam smiled back. He couldn’t think of anything to say so he stared at her hoping she’d say something first. She gave him a quizzical look, so Sam began speaking to try and end the awkward silence. “You know, day of the dead is a really cool cultural holiday.” Sam’s mouth went a mile a minute. “The sugar skulls you have here are typically meant to be placed at the graves of the dead so they can eat something sweet. I’m sure your parents are enjoying Mexico now since they’ll be able to enjoy the festivals.”

Christina gave him a blank look and Sam felt himself clam up. Immediately he could hear Dean’s voice, “ _Way to go, geekboy. You’ve educated her into never choosing to talk to you again.”_

To Sam’s surprise Christina laughed. “I know, I’ve been to Mexico during day of the dead. It’s awesome. I mean, sure this is a party to just kick back and have fun, but that’s kinda the whole point of the holiday.”

“That’s awesome!” Sam told her, relieved that she didn’t think he was a total freak.

“Yeah, my parents are pretty awesome. It’s their 20th anniversary, so they wanted to do something special.”

“That’s great,” Sam said feeling lame. “So you guys get alone well…or at least well enough to let you throw a party, that it.”

Christina laughed. “We get along great, they’re two of my best friends. My parents trust me to be responsible and to clean up my messes.”

“Must be nice,” Sam muttered.

“What?” Christina asked.

“Uh—nothing. I just said it’s nice your parents trust you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” she said curiously. “Do you want a margarita?”

“Uh—“ Sam didn’t drink. Yeah, he had had a few beers with Dean over the years and tasted a few sips of whiskey, but he’d never had a desire to drink much. It would be irresponsible…he was only 16…but the fight he’d had with his dad earlier flashed in his mind and Sam stopped thinking. “Sure.” If he was going to be the black sheep of the family, he might as well go out with a bang.

Christina led him to a bench. “Stay here, I’ll go get us drinks.”

Sam waited patiently on the bench and Christina returned with two margarita glasses complete with paper umbrellas. Sam took a sip, it was nice and tangy with just the right amount of kick. “That’s really good.”

“Right?” she said taking a sip of hers. “My parents like making fancy cocktail drinks so I’ve kinda perfected the art.”

“You’d make a great bartender,” Sam said taking another gulp.

Christina laughed. “If I fail out of college it’s the first thing I’ll do.”

Sam sipped some more. “What do you want to study?”

“I don’t know,” Christina leaned back on the bench and looked up at the stars. “Maybe English.”

“You’d be a great writer,” Sam said before he could stop himself.

“Really?” Christina asked with her eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “That short story you read in class was awesome.”

“Aw, you’re too nice,” she said playfully punching his shoulder. “I could see myself holed up in a cabin in the woods writing incessantly like a hermit.”

“That’s an excellent plan with no room for failure,” Sam said finishing his drink. A warm feeling ran through him, despite the cold wind. It was really peaceful.

“Want another one?” Christina asked.

Sam nodded, and she bounced off to get him another drink. Christina was really smart. He felt flustered and inadequate around her.

She came back with another drink that she handed him. She took a seat on the bench, but this time she curled her legs up, so she was facing Sam. “You know, sometimes there are just too many options…how could I possibly pick one thing to do for the rest of my life and stay stuck in that?”

Sam was at a loss for words, so he took another sip. “What if you have the opposite problem?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” she asked.

Sam knew he should stop talking, but his inhibition was gone and he really liked this girl. “Like, what if you have no choice in what you want to do and you’re just stuck?”

Christina stared at him for a while and Sam nervously downed half the drink. “I don’t think that’s how life works, Sam.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

“We always have choices. Always.” She looked him straight in the eye. “They may be hard choices, but all of life is a choice. That’s kind of the whole point.”

Sam took in what she was saying and didn’t speak for a minute. “That’s one of the most poetic things I’ve ever heard.”

“You’ve been reading crappy poets, then.”

Sam laughed and Christina raised her glass. “To choices.”

“To choices,” Sam toasted, finishing off his drink. He didn’t know how much tequila he’d had, but he was feeling really damn good.

“Wanna dance?” Sam asked holding out a hand for Christina.

“I’d love to,” she said sweetly.

Sam and Christina made their way through the throngs of dancing teenagers and stood swaying in the middle. She leaned into his shoulder and he could practically count the freckles that were splashed across her face. Once again, Sam could hear Dean’s voice in his head. “ _What are you waiting for, moron? Kiss her.”_

Sam looked down at her and leaned in slightly. Christina didn’t wait for him to finish. She reached up and grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in, until her lips were on his. It was a quick kiss, but Sam felt like his brain had stopped working.

“What was that?” he asked in shock.

“A choice,” she grinned.

Sam smiled and leaned down and kissed her again, but this time it was harder and more passionate. “And that was mine.”

* * *

 

After a few hours, Sam could feel the full effects of all the tequila hit him. The world was a little blurry and gravity seemed to have stopped working.

“Isaac Newton’d be sad,” Sam told Christina.

“What?” she laughed.

“The world’s sp’nning,” Sam told her. “Gravity and the center c’nnt hold or somethin’.”

Christina smirked. “Only you would be talking about physics and attempting to quote Yeats while you’re drunk.”

“Am I drunk?” Sam asked

“Oh yeah,” she giggled.

“Tha’s probly why I feel like dancin’ and stuff. My brother says I don’ get out enough.”

“Smart guy.”

The color lights had caught Sam’s attention and he stood by the pool and looked at them. “I wanna touch the water.”

“You can dip your feet in if you—“

Sam interrupted Christina’s thoughts by jumping into the shallow end of the pool. “It’s wet.”

“That’s cause you’re in a pool.”

“Oh. I see,” Sam mumbled. He climbed out and could feel his flannel button down giving him goose bumps, so he took it off and sat down in his undershirt that was now useless.

“I’ll stick this in the dryer for you, later,” Christina told him.

“Thanks,” Sam lay back on the grass. He was getting sleepy.

“Sam!” a voice called.

“Mmm?”

“Your phone’s been ringing nonstop for like 15 minutes,” Jerry said handing the phone to Sam.

“Oh crap.” Sam dialed his voicemail and could hear Dean sounded worried.

            _“Uhh, I don’t wanna interrupt you trying to do something other than study, but it’s 1:15 and I have no idea where you are. Call me.”_

“I hafta go,” Sam said trying to stand up. “My brother’s gonna kill me.”

“Whoa,” Jerry said. “Hold on, you’re not going anywhere alone. Let me drive you.”

“You sure?” Sam asked as he staggered forward a bit.

“Yeah, I haven’t drank anything,” Jerry told him. “Let’s go.”

“Thanks for an awesome night,” Sam said turning to Christina. “Sorry I gotta run.”

“No problem. Thank _you_ for coming. I’ll give you back your shirt tomorrow. What your address?” she asked.

“432 Bellfast Lane,” Sam prattled.

“Alright. Tonight was fun, Sam.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Remember: choices.”

“Choices,” Sam smiled.

* * *

 

15 minutes later Jerry was parked outside the run-down house. “Dude are you sure your parents are gonna be cool with this?”

“Parent.”

“What?”

“Parent. My mom’s dead,” Sam corrected.

“Okay, well is your dad going to be mad if he sees you like this?”

“I don’ think he’s home. It’s D’n ‘n me,” Sam told him.

“Alright man,” Jerry said as he watched Sam exit his car. “Told you parties were fun.”

“Yep.” Sam closed the car door. “See ya later alligator.”

Jerry laughed as he drove away.

Sam walked to the house and gave a very loud knock on the door. Instantly, the door swung open to reveal an angry looking Dean.

“What the hell, Sam? I called you like ten freaking times and you didn’t answer!”

Sam put a finger up to his lips. “Shhh…you need ta relaaax.”

Dean stared. “Sam…are you _drunk_?”

Sam stumbled forward catching himself on Dean’s shoulders. “I dunno. It’s an experiment. With alcohol.”

Dean couldn’t believe this was happening now of all days. “You’ve gotta be fricking kidding me. Sam you are damn lucky dad passed out.”

“Maybe _you_ should have a drink,” Sam patted Dean’s cheek condescendingly. “You’re too uptight.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Dean rubbed his eyes. He must’ve done something truly awful because Karma was a bitch. “Let’s go to bed, Sammy.”

“Not tired,” Sam said pushing away from his brother. “Bored.”

“You can’t be bored you just got back from a party,” Dean hissed. “C’mon let’s go to our room and we can do something fun in there.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “What kinda fun?”

“It’s a surprise,” Dean said pushing his brother into their bedroom. “Sit on the bed. The floor is now lava.”

“No way,” Sam gasped pulling his feet up off the ground.

“Way,” Dean said, mimicking Sam’s movements. “So…how was the party?”

“It was great,” Sam said falling onto his back. “The room is spinning. You should get the checked out.”

“I’ll call a guy first thing tomorrow,” Dean assured him. “So apart from getting drunk, what did you do?”

“Uhhhh…” Sam shut his eyes desperately trying to remember. “I think I danced. Oh! And I jumped in a pool.”

“That would explain the wet hair,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes…I believe I laid on some grass.”

“That’s great, Sammy.”

“Oh! I remember,” Sam exclaimed sitting up. “I kissed Christina.”

Dean glanced over at Sam’s overly excited face that was still dripping water onto his bed. “Well look at you, Casanova. Drunken hookups are a quintessential experience. Sammy, you’re a man now.”

“Thanks, D’n.” Sam missed all sarcasm in Dean’s voice. “I mean, she kinda kissed me first. But still. Choices, D’n.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. It would be just like Sam to have the girl make the first move. “What about choices, Sammy?”

“Well we all have ‘em.”

“Yeah that’s true,” Dean accepted.

“Like the choice about goin’ huntin’ all the time,” Sam added.

Dean froze. “What do you mean?”

“We don’ hafta do this forever!” Sam told his exasperated. “We can choose to be somethin’ else. We can go to college and be writers if we want’d.”

Dean felt like he’d been punched. “I can’t write for shit…and dad needs us.”

“No,” Sam rolled over and looked at Dean. “Dad needs _you_. You heard him today. Blah blah blah disappointment Sammy. Blah blah blah holdin’ me back. Blah blah blah Dean is a better son. Blah blah blah disrespectin’ mom.”

Dean couldn’t have imagined a worse time for Sam to spill his feelings. Having been the only person not to just let loose because it was an awful day in Winchester history, Dean felt completely drained and unequipped to deal with all the things Sam had been holding back. “Dad just said those things because he was drunk.”

“He meant it,” Sam said.

“No, he didn’t,” Dean refuted. “Dad cares a lot about you, Sam. You’re both just too stubborn to change your ways of thinking.”

“No, he meant it,” Sam repeated. “Maybe I am a failure.”

Dean sat up straight and looked at Sam. “Listen to me, Sammy. Dad has never been disappointed in you. He may say things that come out harshly and he may pretend he doesn’t care, but dad is really proud of you. You’ve never been a burden on this family and you never will be.”

Sam tried to interrupt, but Dean continued speaking. “Sure, I may be more into the hunts than you and am less likely to argue, that doesn’t mean I’m a better anything. We work best as a _team._ I’m not sailing this ship alone...and mom would’ve been really proud of you too.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean turned away. “You don’t remember her, but she was the nicest person I’ve ever known. She was patient and kind and even when I would disobey her or throw tantrums, she always forgave me. I know she’d be proud of the person you’ve become.”

“I’m getting’ sleepy,” Sam yawned.

“Thank god,” Dean mumbled under his breath as he turned out the lights.

“D’nnn,” Sam mumbled in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I have a choice?”

Dean felt like he had been doused in cold water. His brother’s voice was hopeful and earnest…but all he wanted to do was leave. What was he supposed to say? Dean wanted them to stay together. The Winchester team. But instead Dean quietly said, “You can make any choice you want.”

Sam didn’t respond and Dean knew he had fallen asleep. He only hoped Sam wouldn’t remember the conversation in the morning.

* * *

 

Sam awoke early the next morning with an unquenchable thirst. He stumbled into the kitchen and filled up a glass full of water and guzzled it as fast as he could. He immediately filled another one and downed that one as well. He didn’t have a hangover, so that was good. The details were a little fuzzy on what happened, but he had a general idea.

He’d gone to the party, had a nice talk with Christina, kissed Christina, came home… _shit._ He’d told Dean everything that happened. Including his radical notion of doing something other than hunting.

“Morning kiddo,” Dean greeted startling Sam out of his thoughts.

“H—hey Dean,” Sam stammered.

“How you feeling?”

“Not too bad, just thirsty,” Sam told him.

“Just wait until you’re older. Then the hangovers start,” Dean said with a chuckle.

“You’re not that much older than me,” Sam pointed out.

“Respect your elders, asshat.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Sam laughed.

“You’re just lucky I don’t give you the whole disapproving parent speech,” Dean told him. “I should be kicking your ass into tomorrow for doing what you did.”

Sam snorted. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Do as I say, not as I do little brother.”

“That’s awesome advice, Dean.”

Dean stopped joking for a moment. “So…how much do you remember of last night?”

“Not much,” Sam lied. He didn’t want to talk about what he’d said. It would be better to pretend it never happened. “I went to the party, hung out with friends, came home and saw you, and then I fell asleep.”

Dean internally sighed in relief. At least he wouldn’t have to talk about what Sam had said. “You fell in a pool, you know.”

Sam groaned. “Oh god.”

“And,” Dean said with an impish grin, “You kissed a very pretty girl, apparently.”

“I remember that part,” Sam mumbled.

“Of course you do,” Dean said with a wink.

The doorbell of the old house rang startling both Winchesters. “Let me get it,” Dean told Sam.

Dean opened the door only to see a pretty girl standing there holding an old plaid shirt of Sam’s.

“Hi,” the girl said. “I’m Christina, a friend of Sam’s. He left his shirt at the party yesterday.”

Dean smirked. So this was the girl Sam had been talking about. “So he did. Let me get him for you.”

Dean walked back to the kitchen and waved Sam’s flannel in his face. “Look what I got.”

“Shit!” Sam gasped. “I think I gave her our address.”

“No shit Sherlock,” Dean laughed. “She’s waiting outside.”

Sam pushed past Dean and stepped outside with Christina, but before he could close the door Dean managed to shout, “You’re girlfriend is so out of your league, Sammy!”

“Sorry about that,” Sam said blushing furiously. “Dean’s a jerk.”

“It’s fine…Sammy.”

“Oh god, please don’t,” Sam groaned.

“I just wanted to drop off your shirt and stuff…”

“Yeah,” Sam said awkwardly rubbing his neck. “Look, I just wanted to say thanks for the advice you gave me yesterday. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I just need you to know…I’m probably moving within the next few days, and I wish I didn’t have to but my dad’s work takes us all over and…”

“Stop,” Christina interrupted. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it. There are choices, but this isn’t one you need to make.” She gave him a small smile. “The thing about choices is that it’s not always easy to tell when to make them. Half the choice is just learning when to pick your battle.”

Sam stared at her dumbstruck. “If writing and bartending fail, you could be a great life coach.”

Christina laughed. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

Sam leaned in and gave her a soft, sweet kiss. “In case I don’t see you again. Take care.”

“You too, Sam,” she waved as she got in her car and drove out of sight.

Sam stepped back in to find Dean sitting on the shabby couch with the biggest grin on his face. “Oh shut up!”

Dean faked wiping away a tear. “They grow up so fast.”

“I hate you.”

* * *

 

John woke up on Sunday around 2 pm with a pounding headache. He felt slightly nauseous and couldn’t see all too clearly. Slowly, he rolled out of bed and held his head in his hands. _What the hell happened the last two days?_ He genuinely couldn’t remember anything, no matter how hard he wracked his brain. He was getting too old for this.

Slowly, John got up and exited his bedroom and found Sam and Dean sitting on the couch arguing over whether the Beatles or the Stones were better. “Hey boys.”

“Hey dad,” Dean smiled.

“Hi dad.” Sam sounded slightly off-put, but John couldn’t tell why.

“Anything interesting happen over the weekend?” John knew it was his subtle way of asking what he’d done over the past three days.

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick look and simultaneously said, “Nah.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Mhm. Sure.”

“Promise dad,” Dean grinned.

“We’d never lie,” Sam agreed.

“Both of you are such a pain in the ass,” John laughed as he went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

There was an unspoken rule that whatever happened on the weekend of November 2nd would never be discussed. John assumed that the boys were just upholding the family tradition. He choked down an aspirin and rubbed his eyes suddenly weary. It was depressing as hell that they even needed this rule. He should be able to cope without going on a bender. Dean did it. Sam did it. John noticed the lack of kitchen table and wondered if he’d had something to do with it. He knew he wasn’t winning any parenting awards, that was for sure. He leaned against a cabinet wishing he could stop doing this to his kids…but there were too many unanswered questions and the lingering _why us_ that never let him stop. His boys would have to bear it for just a little longer. Justice would have to make up for a lost childhood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually updated when I said I would, so I need a moment to congratulate myself. Ok. Anyway, this chapter was something I'd had in mind for a while, but didn't know how to go about and when the right age (for Sam) to do it would be. I also tried to portray all three Winchesters fairly, but I may have been biased at certain points. John's portrayal was the hardest for me, because I don't want him to be a villain, per se, but more of a character that life has really just broken. The idea for him having that argument with Sam was from "The Girl Next Door" when a young Sam tells Amy Pond "You don't want to see him when he's drinking." The idea for Sam to mimic the behavior was a reaction to show the similarities between him and his dad. I don't know how it came off, so please read and review! Grammar errors/typos are all mine and I obviously don't own this show. Thanks!


	18. The Happiest Place on Earth

 

**Chapter 18: The Happiest Place on Earth**

Sam Winchester had been shocked by very little over the course of his 17 years; he was alarmed when he was first introduced to the supernatural world (He was 8, it’s excusable), he was flabbergasted when he caught his brother singing along to Madonna (“It’s just a terrible song that got stuck in my head, Sammy”), and he was perplexed when he had a history teacher who genuinely didn’t like him (he definitely deserved higher than an 89% on that paper). Outside of those experiences, Sam never thought he’d be shocked ever again. He was proven wrong on a seemingly normal day when his father marched into the kitchen and announced, “We should take a family vacation to Disneyland.”

* * *

 

Prior to his dad coming in, Sam had been in a heated debate with Dean over who the better superhero was: Batman or Superman.

“Batman is so much cooler,” Dean insisted. “He’s strong and kicks ass and has all these cool gadgets that help him fight crime, and he doesn’t have super powers to help him cheat.”

“It’s not cheating to have super powers if you’re claiming you’re a superhero,” Sam huffed. “Plus, Batman’s too angsty. With superman you’re never worried that he’s going to blow your fricking head off because he’s pissed off.”

“Oh please,” Dean scoffed. “Superman is way too perfect. Pretty boy that nothing can kill? There’s no danger or excitement. He’s so vanilla, he makes vanilla look spicy.”

“It’s nice to have a hero that’s perfect!” Sam insisted. “You can escape life while reading a comic about something that you can’t ever really have. It’s a common desire, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, Freud. You’re wrong though.”

“It’s an opinion,” Sam glared. “There’s inherently no right or wrong answer.”

“You’re still wrong.”

“That’s not how it works!”

John Winchester entered the kitchen to find his boys arguing about something with such rapt attention they didn’t even notice him. He cleared his throat and waited for them both to look at him and declared, “We should take a family vacation to Disneyland.”

Sam and Dean both stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”

Sam continued to stare at him. _A family vacation to Disneyland? What the hell?_ “Christo.”

John rolled his eyes. “I’m not possessed, smartass.”

Sam just continued to stare at him with wide-eyes and an open mouth. _Okay, so he’s not possessed, but he most certainly isn’t dad._

“What’s the catch?” Dean finally asked.

“Ah,” John said producing a manila folder. “There’s been something strange happening at the park.”

Sam let out a sigh as he took the folder. Of course his dad hadn’t been thinking of taking an _actual_ vacation. “Strange? Strange how?”

“There have been reports of employees acting strange,” John told him. “More angry than usual or whatever. Shortly after, rides began malfunctioning more often than usual. The final straw was when three people were killed on rides over the course of the last 2 months. One died on the haunted mansion ride when—“

Dean snorted. “You mean the haunted mansion is actually haunted?”

John glared at him and continued. “One died on the haunted mansion ride when she was pulled too close to the exit as the floor descended. It wasn’t pretty. The next vic got killed on the Space Mountain rollercoaster—apparently the seatbelt malfunctioned and she fell. The last one was more bizarre. A man was riding on the Small World ride and started getting claustrophobic. They stopped the ride and an employee was supposed to escort him out of the ride. The moment the guy exited with the employee, the employee drowns him in the shallow water that the boats float on.”

Dean winced. “Death by lame rides? Sucks.”

“It gets better,” John nodded. “The employees claim that they weren’t even there when the rides malfunctioned. All three of them are in jail without a clue as to why.”

Sam leafed through his dad’s research. “So what do you think is doing this?”

“I initially thought possession, but after the employees claimed that they weren’t there…”

“Shifter,” Sam concluded.

“Yep,” John agreed.

“Great,” Dean groaned. “A monster that can look like anyone that’s killing people at the happiest place on earth. That’s cheery.”

“Pack your bags boys, we’re going to Disneyland,” John said.

* * *

 

Sam had always imagined going to Disneyland, but it was never quite like this. He stood in line while his dad purchased tickets for the three of them, and Sam couldn’t help but smirk. His dad had insisted they “blend in” and look like any other happy family at the most lucrative tourist trap in the USA, so all three Winchesters were sporting Mickey Mouse T Shirts and carrying backpacks. Despite their normal appearance, their backpacks contained salt, holy water, a silver knife, and a gun filled with silver bullets (and extra iron and salt rounds just in case). Dean had looked thoroughly unhappy when their dad threw a T Shirt at him and told him to wear. Sam didn’t really care all that much, it was just a shirt.

“This is freaking humiliating,” Dean muttered under his breath. “I look like I’m 12.”

“At least now your appearance matches your IQ,” Sam said mildly.

Dean smacked him upside the head for that, still disgruntled.

“Knock it off,” John told them handing them their tickets. “There are some three year olds who are acting more mature than the pair of you.”

They entered the iron gates of the park, and the lady scanning the tickets didn’t even bother to check their backpacks. “First time visitors?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam smiled.

“Oh you’re gonna have so much fun!” She gushed patting Sam on the arm in a grandmotherly fashion. “Welcome to the happiest place on earth!”

“Or hell,” Dean murmured.

Sam stomped on Dean’s foot, which earned him a death glare from his father, and a confused look from the lady at the gate. Sam gave a “sorry my brother’s a child” look and stepped away from the front gate. The flowers in front of the park were arranged to make a giant Mickey Mouse head. It was over-the-top, but it was still cool to look at.

“How freaking cheesy,” Dean commented.

Ignoring Dean, John pulled out a map of the park. “I think it’d be best if we split up. I don’t like the idea, but we’ll cover more ground. You boys hit the rides where the vics died, and I’ll go try and talk to park employees. Keep your cell phones on and be careful. This damn thing can look like anybody, so trust no one.”

“Alright dad,” Dean said looking over the map. “You take care, too. Call if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” John smiled. “I’m a pro.”

Dean snorted. “Professional bench warmer, old man.”

“When we’re done, I’m gonna kick your ass,” John laughed making his way through the crowd of people.

Dean turned back to Sam and smirked. “We’ve got rides to go on, Sammy.”

* * *

 

Dean liked Disneyland a lot more than he cared to admit. It was colorful and every little plastic world had a different theme that was simultaneously childish, yet intriguing. Both younger Winchesters made their way to “New Orleans” to check out the Haunted Mansion ride.

Dean had to admit, it looked like a pretty realistic depiction of New Orleans. The people who built the park created an entire little block of real genuine replica Louisiana, right down to the clam chowder bread bowls.

“Hey, do you think these actually work?” Dean tossed a voodoo doll at Sam.

Sam caught it and glared. “Knock it off, Dean. We’re trying to do something important here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled putting back the doll. “So freaking uptight.”

Sam and Dean stood at the end of the line for the Haunted Mansion. In theory it was a twenty-minute wait, so Sam opened up the map again and began trying to plan a course of action to look for the shifter.

“Okay, so a girl dies on this ride after the employee pulls her too close to the descending exit...from what dad said earlier she was probably crushed to death.”

“That’s great, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” the youngest Winchester corrected before continuing. “All these deaths are caused by employees, people in power of the rides. So our shifter is probably another employee.”

“How are we supposed to tell who’s a shifter and who’s a human?” Dean asked.

“You know how dogs or cats have eyes that shine when you take a picture with the flash on?”

“No.”

Sam huffed in annoyance. “Well, they do. A shifter’s eyes work the same way. With this—“ Sam struggled a bit and pulled a cheap digital camera out of his backpack, “we can snap a photo and determine who the shifter is.”

“Good thinking. Does dad have a camera with him?” Dean asked.

“He should,” Sam said. “Now the problem is what do we do if we see the shifter? We can’t just open fire with a bunch of people around, especially since the shifter looks human.”

“Then we’ll have to lure it out,” Dean said. “Ask to talk to it alone or something.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah that’s inconspicuous. _Hello there, you don’t know me, but let’s take a walk._ ”

Dean shuffled forward in line. “Well I don’t see you coming up with anything better genius.”

“We could follow it after the ride ends,” Sam suggested.

“Alright fine,” Dean told him entering the loading area for the ride. The house interior was dim and had garish Victorian decorations. The “paintings” on the wall would flash back and forth from the normal portrait and a zombified version of the subject. Dean rolled his eyes. It was downright comical.

Sam had taken out his camera and was looking through it intently, pretending to take photographs. So far, there had been no sign of the shifter. Dean grabbed his shoulder making him jump, nearly causing him to drop the camera.

“Knock it off,” Sam hissed. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Seemed pretty funny to me.” Sam couldn’t see his brother’s face too well in the somber looking room, but he could tell he was smiling.

“Right this way please,” an employee motioned to them. Sam looked through his camera, but the girl was really just a girl. She led the Winchesters and 15 others into a tall circular room. “Please step into the center of the room please.”

Sam did a he was told, but he stood outside the throng of people. The ride operator shut the doors and total darkness fell upon them. Sam felt Dean tense next to him, after so many hunts it was a little natural to be suspicious of the dark. A flash of blinding light lit up the room briefly, and Sam felt the room growing taller. He realized the floor was descending.

“This is how that girl died,” Sam whispered to Dean. “The room started descending and she was next to the door.”

“Ergh,” Dean said disgusted. “This is terrible.”

The room stopped moving and the doors opened again, and another employee motioned for the crowd of people to sit in small carts labeled “Doom Buggies.”

The two Winchesters climbed into the “buggies” that were supposed to take them through the house. They sat in cramped quarters—Sam’s latest growth spurt had caused him to shoot up to six feet, much to Dean’s dismay. The ride operator came over and tugged on the seatbelts on the ride to make sure things were properly fastened, and Sam discreetly used his camera to look at the employee. Sam gave Dean a small shake of the head; the shifter wasn’t anywhere in sight.

With a jerk, the buggy started talking them on a tour of the house. They entered a ballroom with images of holographic ghosts floating around.

“This would be one bang up salt and burn,” Dean whispered to Sam.

“Oh god,” Sam muttered, “could you imagine how ecstatic dad would be about it?”

The buggy continued to coast through the different rooms of the house: the parlor, the kitchen, the living room, and finally through the graveyard. It was enjoyable to just sit back, albeit a little ridiculous. When the ride finally ended Sam made sure to use his camera again and inconspicuously photograph employees on the way out.

“Nothing,” Sam said looking through the photos. “Wherever the shifter is, it’s not at that ride.”

“Great, let me call dad and let him know,” Dean told him dialing their dad on his cellphone.

_“Hello?”_

“Dad it’s us. There’s nothing at the haunted mansion ride. Have you found anything?” Dean asked.

_“Nothing new. I just talked to head of park security posing as a fed. Apparently all the murderous employees have given the park a bad rep, so they’ve tightened security at the gates and within the park. Plus, all remaining employees were given psych evals, and they all came out clean. So if any employee seems off, that’s probably our guy.”_

“Alright,” Dean told him. “We’ll keep looking.”

“What did dad say?” Sam asked anxiously.

“He couldn’t find anything other than the park tightening security and giving employees psych evals,” Dean said relaying the information. “I guess we should head to Small World now."

* * *

 

Sam liked Disneyland, but it was all a bit too much for him after a while. An amalgam of separate little worlds was a recipe for screaming children, frustrated parents, and pricey food items. On the other hand, Dean who had been trying to maintain a tough bravado had the biggest smile plastered on his face. Everything from the overpriced food to the cheesy rides caught his eye.

“Look, Sammy!” Dean was waving frantically. “A Star Wars ride!”

“Dean, we’re trying to get a job done! When it’s done we can ride it,” Sam said impatiently.

“C’mon we’re already right here!”

“No, Dean! Later!”

Dean scowled. “You’re no fun. Where’s the stupid ride?”

“You’re pouting like a two year old,” Sam pointed out. “We’ll come back stop moaning. And it’s just beyond this castle.”

“That’s freaking great,” Dean grumbled. “I’m walking through a damn princess castle instead of riding shotgun with Han Solo. It’s just like you to like this prissy crap.”

Sam ignored his brother and continued walking. He looked over and saw Dean stop to talk to one of the actresses who was dressed as Belle.

“Well aren’t you the Belle of the ball?” Dean asked.

The girl blushed and curtsied.

Sam was going to puke.

“Dean, c’mon!”

“Sorry,” Dean told Belle. “My little brother’s really excited for Small World. He loves the song, he has it as his ringtone.”

“Dean!”

“I’m coming, get a picture with me and Belle, Sammy.”

Sam gave his brother the best glare he could muster and snapped a photo of Dean with his arm around Belle. “Happy now?”

“Thanks for the picture,” Dean said kissing her hand.

Belle looked flustered, but pleased. “It’s no problem. Have a good day! Have fun on Small World, Sammy!

Sam physically cringed at that. “What the hell?” Sam angrily whispered.

“Relax,” Dean told him nonchalantly. “Making sure she wasn’t a shifter by having you take a picture.”

“That’s just a cover and you know it,” Sam retorted.

“If the shoe fits,” Dean mused.

They reached a large building that was adorned in parts of a clock. The wheels and cogs turned effortlessly and gracefully, and they coated the entrance to Small World. A small moat surrounded the building, with a large bridge leading out of the entrance to the ride. Sam pushed his way through the crowds, eager to get the job over with and potentially start enjoying the park a bit more.

Sam and Dean entered the palace and were seated in little boats that were to take them into the castle. Sam held his camera steady and continued to look through it, but to no avail. There was nothing suspicious about the employees at Small World and now he was stuck on a kiddy ride with the world’s most annoying song. Sam decided that anyone would snap and murder someone if they had to hear “It’s a small world” all day.

The ride started and the fleet of oats was sent into the castle and Sam sat back and tried to tune out the song. They entered a room full of dolls that sang and moved, and Sam immediately felt uneasy.

“Well this is super disturbing,” Dean mumbled.

“No kidding,” Sam responded.

The boat moved through the ride far too slowly for Sam’s taste, and he didn’t think it could get much worse until he entered the room full of “cute festive dolls.”

Staring down at him from every angle were twelve inch clowns repeatedly opening and closing their mouths as they sang along to Small World like some kind of weirdo clown cult. Their dead little eyes stared at Sam and he felt himself stiffen. He closed his eyes and willed the boat to move faster, but closing his eyes made him panic more so he opened them again. His tongue had gone dry from his shallow, open-mouthed breathing.

“Hey,” Dean tapped him, making Sam let out a small yelp. He’d forgotten Dean was there.

“What?” Sam said angrily not bothering to take his eyes off the clowns.

“So you still have the clown thing,” Dean told him in disbelief. “Good to know.”

“Screw you,” Sam retorted without much heat. Most of his energy was focused on not standing up and bolting.

“Hey, hey—calm down, you’ll be fine,” Dean said grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “They’re not even real.”

“I know that, I’m not an idiot,” Sam snapped.

“If it breaks you can destroy it,” Dean told him. “Just take it easy.”

Sam wrenched his shoulder out of Dean’s grasp. This was humiliating. “I know. I’m fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sure, your greenish face that looks like it’s about to puke is totally fine.”

Sam gave a curt nod, but kept his eye trained on the offending clowns.

Finally, the ride ended and Sam couldn’t get out fast enough. He sped walk all the way out of the clock castle and didn’t stop until he was a good distance away.

Dean lightly jogged after him. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Whatever, let’s just go to the next place on the list.”

“Little Sammy’s still scared of clowns,” Dean grinned.

“Shut up. I think the next ride is Space Mountain,” Sam consulted the map of the park again.

“Wanna watch _It?_ ”

Sam ignored Dean and began making his way through the crowds of people once more. “It’s in ‘Tomorrowland’ where they have all the futuristic rides, I guess. It’s supposed to be fun.”

“How about a carnival? Can we go to one of those?”

“Dean, SHUT UP!”

“Okay grouchy, let’s head to the ride.” Dean held his hands up in mock surrender. “Let me call dad and let him know.”

Sam and Dean made their way to the entrance of the ride and stood in line. Sam groaned internally; the wait would be 55 minutes. _This is great. Just freaking awesome._

Dean pulled out his phone. “Geez, the line for this thing is freaking ginormous. This better be a damn good ride.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Sam shrugged. “It’s an indoor rollercoaster designed to make you feel as if you’re flying through space.”

Dean shifted slightly next to Sam. “What do you mean flying through space?”

“Well, it’s supposed to be pitch black on the ride with only ‘stars’ to guide your space ship through the ride. There are large drops and sharp turns, although it’s a bummer that it doesn’t have loops.”

Dean was staring at Sam with a slack-jawed look. “You’re kidding me. _Flying_ through space?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “No…is everything ok?”

“Wha—yeah! Everything is good.” Dean waved his hand as if to bat away any worries. “It’s all A-Ok.”

Sam stared at him a little longer. “Uh-huh…sure, Dean.”

Sam’s one-sided staring match was interrupted when the familiar rift of “Smoke on the Water” emanated from Dean’s hand.

Dean answered his phone immediately and Sam craned his neck to be able to listen in on the conversation. “Dad?”

_“Where are you and Sam?”_

“Uh, in line for Space Mountain…why?” Dean asked concerned.

_“The shifter’s near your area. I’m heading down there now. Stay in line and I’ll meet you there.”_

Sam yanked the phone out of Dean’s hand. “How do you know it’s near us, dad?”

_“Because it is, Sam. I think it recognized us. I don’t exactly know, but I was interviewing one of the park managers and I spotted it about 50 feet away. The moment I tried to chase after it, it disappeared into a crowd of people.”_

“Well what did it look like?” Sam asked again.

_“I don’t have time to answer your questions right now! It was a popcorn vendor. God knows what it is now. It’s probably changed its shape by now. I’m almost at the ride. I’ll talk to you in a few.”_

Sam hung up the phone and was promptly (lightly) punched in the arm by Dean.

“That’s for taking things out of people’s hands. Learn some manners.”

“I’m following by example,” Sam said innocently. “I have a young and impressionable mind, after all.”

Dean threw him a look of disgust as John pushed his way past people in line who kept tutting him and passive-aggressively whispering ‘how rude.’

            Dean glared at the people; Sam had the decency to look embarrassed. “Dad, what’s going on?”

            John shuffled forward in line a little. “I think its lair is under the maintenance of this ride. It would be dark and easy to get into if you’re disguised as a ride engineer or mechanic.”

            “Why would it kill people, though?” Sam wondered aloud. “It just makes no sense…it’s not eating people and it has no other motive.”

            John looked around warily, trying to determine if the people in front of or behind him were listening. “Sometimes there really are just sick bastards. Evil for the sake of evil.”

            Sam didn’t look convinced, but he let the issue drop, tuning out his father and brother. He didn’t understand why his dad always viewed _everything_ as a threat until proven innocent…wasn’t it supposed to be innocent until proven guilty? Although the shifter was far from innocent, Sam almost felt it was only right to find out why and potentially…defend it? He didn’t really know and if he said this he’d get laughed at or yelled at. Probably both.

            “Right this way, please,” he heard a voice say and he was snapped out of his thoughts. A young man, probably not much older than Sam was ushering them onto a roller coaster designed to look like a space ship. Sam took out his camera and looked through it as he tried to get on the ride when he was yanked back. “Sorry sir, no bags or cameras on the roller coaster.”

            “Uh…but…well—what do I do with them?” Sam spluttered.

            “There are cubbies right there,” the guy pointed to a wall next to the ride. “Stick ‘em in there and they’ll be safe until after.”

Sam glanced at his father who gave him a discreet nod, and Sam went and placed his bag and camera inside one of the cubbies. John came over and brought his and Dean’s bags to a cubby, too.

“Dad I can’t check and see if it’s a shifter without the camera,” Sam whispered.

“I know,” John told him. “I’ve got my gun hidden. Do you have any weapon on you?”

Sam nodded slightly. “Silver knife. I think Dean’s got one too.”

John grimaced. “It should be fine. It’s not like the thing’s on the ride with us.”

Sam gave a nervous laugh as he seated himself in the middle of the cart between Dean and his father. “You’re going to jinx it.”

“Jink? Jinx what? What are we talking about?” Dean asked hurriedly as a lap bar came down on all three Winchesters.

“Dean…are you feeling okay?” Sam asked concerned.

“Me? I’m peachy. Fan-frigging-tastic.” Dean was gipping his lap bar painfully tight, and his face was pale. Sam could’ve sworn he heard Dean humming something that sounded suspiciously like Metallica.

“Are you…” Sam didn’t know if he should even ask, but he decided to proceed anyway. “Scared?”

Dean turned his head and gave him a glare that made Sam want to recoil. “No I’m not freaking scared! I just don’t like the fact that we’re on some dark ride that goes up high that people have died on!”

“Kinda like how I don’t like clowns,” Sam pointed out.

“No it is not the same at all! You don’t see me—“

Dean was cut short as the coaster began to move. It entered a tunnel that looked like a space platform and Sam could feel the roller coaster tilt him back, meaning they were going up a (large and rather steep) hill.

“Fuck,” Dean mumbled under his breath. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Hey, hey, just take a deep breath and calm down. We’re going to be fine. A large part of fear is you psyching yourself up,” Sam soothed.

Sam tried to pat Dean on the shoulder, but Dean swatted his arm away. “Quit treating me like I’m a kid, Sam!”

Sam turned and looked at his dad, who had a wide-eyed “don’t ask me” expression on his face.

“Dean, calm down you’re making everyone else nervous too,” John ordered.

Dean gave a clipped nod and continued his rapid, shallow breathing. The slow ascent was driving Dean crazy more than the actual thought of the coaster itself. Suddenly, the ride plummeted through the air.

Dean instinctually flayed his arm out over Sam. “Shit!”

Sam laughed and tried to shout “it’s okay!” but his words couldn’t be heard over the screams of other people on the ride. Sam thought the ride was well designed and it truly looked like you were flying through the night sky. The rush of air pushed back his bangs and he could feel his hair flapping around. Sam looked over and saw his dad smiling. It was weird since he didn’t see it all that often.

The ride came to an abrupt stop and Sam felt his head get thrown forward as the wheels gave a sickening screech as they braked, causing red sparks to fly from the intense pressure on the metal tracks.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asked anxiously.

Sam was about to respond when the room was flooded with lights and a voice over the intercom began to speak. “I’m terribly sorry for the interruption ladies and gentlemen, the ride is experiencing some technical difficulties. Someone should be here shortly to completely clear the premises. In the meantime, please exit on the platform to your right and follow the lighted path to the nearest available exit. At Disneyland we want everyone to be as happy as possible, so when you exit you’ll be handed fast pass tickets to a ride of your choice. Thanks, and enjoy your stay at the happiest place on earth.”

All the lap belts were lifted and it was a chaotic scramble as people clamored to get off of the ride.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” John told his sons.

Dean rubbed his neck. “I think the freaking ride gave me whiplash.”

“Don’t be such a wuss,” Sam said gingerly standing up. They weren’t high off the ground. The portion of the ride where they had stopped was only 10 feet or so above the floor. “Where do we go from here?”

“Let’s wait ‘till all the people clear out and then we’ll head to the maintenance section of this ride,” John told him. The Winchesters allowed the other people on the ride to pass them and make their way to the exits. Once they had all left John lowered himself off the platform onto the ground below.

“C’mon,” he instructed. “I don’t know how long it’ll be until the official people start coming back.”

Dean jumped next, and then Sam who managed to stumble a little on the landing.

            “Klutz,” Dean whispered.

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”

“Shut up,” John hissed. “I heard something.”

All the Winchesters had their weapons at the ready instantly, with John at the front, Dean on his right, and Sam off to his left slightly behind Dean.

“Follow me, and keep quiet,” he ordered.

“Yes sir,” came the twin responses of the younger Winchesters.

John made his way across the platform, and found a large metal gate that came down which separated the ride from the mechanics rooms. Carefully, John bent down and pulled the gate up, which opened with surprising ease. “Dean hold the gate, I’m going under.”

Dean dutifully held the gate up. “Sammy, hold it for me now.”

Sam trudged over and lifted the gate. It wasn’t all that heavy, but the metal edges cut his fingers a bit. “Hurry up, Dean!” Dean wormed his way under the door, and Sam felt the metal growing heavier. Dean had barely managed to get in, when Sam let the door drop with a deafening thud.

“Dammit Sam, be quiet,” John snapped.

“The door got heavier,” Sam retorted inspecting his bloody fingers.

Sam heard his father and brother trying to lift the door without much success.

“It’s locked or something,” Dean told him. “And it’s remote control operated.”

“Sam go find the remote, your brother and I will take care of the shifter,” John said.

“This ride is constantly going under renovation,” Sam rushed. “There will be several large rooms just like this one, so the shifter could be anywhere. Be careful.”

“You too, just—“

“Shut up,” Sam said quickly. “Someone’s coming.”

“Hey!” a guy shouted. “Hey kid! What the hell are you doing down here?”

“Uhhh,” Sam turned to face a middle-aged man who was beginning to bald. The man was very red in the face, and he looked remarkably like a garden gnome. Sam would’ve laughed had the man not looked so angry.

“You can’t be down here, kid,” the man said grabbing Sam’s arm and dragging him away from the equipment. “What gives you the right to think you can sneak around down here. You could get yourself killed or screw up the ride! Some nerve you’ve got.”

Sam stumbled over his feet as the angry man pulled him away. “Please, I can explain.”

“Save it, kid,” the man yanked him outside and the blinding sun. “Follow me.”

* * *

 

Sam was filled with dread as he reluctantly followed the gnome-man. He felt remarkably like a child again, as the gnome man led him through the park by the hand. He recognized that they were by Main Street and the fire department on the premise. The man pulled him into a realistic looking municipal building. “I’ve got one for the holding cell, Bill,” the gnome man told an old man at the front desk.

“What for?” the old man asked peering over his spectacles.

“Breaking and entering and snooping around dangerous rides. I’ll call the official cops soon, don’t worry about it,” the gnome man said pushing Sam into a plain white room with a small window on the door. The plain white walls made made Sam feel like he was in a hospital.

“Welcome to Disneyland jail, kid,” the gnome man announced cuffing Sam’s wrist to the barren table that sat in the middle. “Most of the time this place is used as a holding room for people who’ve smuggled in contraband until the Police Department can get here.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Sam informed him sitting down looking at his cuffed wrist. “I’m a minor and I have a right to an attorney. On what grounds are you holding me?”

“Well there’s the whole wandering around on a roller coaster premise that could endanger the lives of tons of people part,” The man said closing the door.

Sam groaned. “I can explain—I was with my school group, I fell off the platform when the ride broke down and—“

The gnome man continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken. “Then of course, there is the rather disturbing fact that you and your family are all hunters.”

Sam scrambled to stand up, but his wrist was still cuffed at the table. Sam’s free hand inched down towards the silver knife in his pant leg, but he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the shifter smiled. “One more move towards the silver and your brain’s gonna be splattered all over this wall…you know, there are some perks to posing as a cop.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam put his free hand up. “Take it easy.” It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d been in a situation like this, but whenever it had happened in the past he knew his dad and Dean had been close by.

The shifter gave a sideways smile that when coupled with his gnome-ish appearance made Sam feel like he was staring at an evil elf. “Hunters are always getting in my way. It’s getting to be kind of annoying.”

“Maybe you should stop killing random people,” Sam quipped. Sarcasm was now his only defense and he felt a lot like Dean.

“But I get so bored,” the shifter said moving behind Sam. “And I do want some decent entertainment.”

Sam let out an involuntary shiver. His dad was right, at least about this particular shifter. He was a sick bastard. 

“Hmm,” the shifter twirled a piece of Sam’s hair in his hand. “You’re my greatest trick yet.”

“What the hell are—“

Sam gasped and scooted away from the shifter as he began to watch the shifter stat to bubble. The gnome man reached up and sunk his stubby fingers into his fleshy rosy face and rip the skin clean off. Arching his back in a cat like motion, the shifter clawed at the skin on his chest, exposing raw muscle. With a twist, Sam heard the sickening snap of bones, and the shifter seemed to drop his old ones to the floor, simple as taking off a pair of pants. Stepping out of his old skin the shifter smiled serenely, and Sam let out a horrified gasp.

Staring back at Sam was an eerily familiar pair of hazel eyes covered by a layer of bangs.

“See I was thinking,” the not-Sam smoothed out his hair, “that it’d be much funnier if I kill your family in this visage.”

“I’m gonna kill you myself,” Sam spat. Hearing his own voice arguing with him was unnerving.

“Oh Sammy, but we both know that’s not quite true.” A dimpled smile appeared on not-Sam’s face. “It’ll be entertaining to watch your poor brother’s surprised face when you gut him. You love him so very much.”

“You son of a bitch,” Sam breathed.

“Careful, there. That’s my mom you’re talking about.” Sam felt like throwing up as he watched his evil twin wink at him. “And then there’s dear old dad. You don’t really get along with him do ya? Ah, teenage rebellion. It’ll be completed when I commit patricide though. Shame.”

“Don’t touch them! You hear me? Don’t lay a finger on them or it’ll be the sorriest day of your life!” Sam shouted.

“God I look pathetic when I’m angry. You stay here and be a good boy. By the time the cops show up they’ll be wondering who locked up the psycho who killed his only living family members. Sucks.” The shifter headed for the door. “Oh and these walls are sound proof, by the way. Shout yourself hoarse, kid.”

With an unsatisfying click of the door, the shifter was gone and Sam was left alone to wonder how the hell he could get out of this mess.

* * *

 

John and Dean had made their way through several mechanical rooms that twisted and turned to follow the roller coaster tracks after hearing Sam get dragged away by an employee. Dean had wanted to leave and go after Sam, but John insisted that they keep searching and that Sam could handle himself. The job came first. When they found the stairs adjacent to the first big hill on the ride, they decided it’d be best to look underneath the stairs.

“Give me a hand, Dean,” John grunted as he tried to kick open a large wooden door that led to the underground engine room.

Dean obliged and with the combined effort of two Winchesters kicking, the stiff door was finally broken down.

A foul smell was the first thing Dean noticed. Dean’s eyes watered and a hand flew automatically to his mouth. “What the hell is that smell?”

“If I had to guess,” John croaked, “It’d be rotting meat.”

John stepped further into the room where a makeshift nest had been created. The floor was littered with newspapers and wrappers. “Dean, what does this look like to you?” John kicked the object of intent towards Dean.

“If I had to guess—ugh wait—is that… _skin?”_

“I think it’s shedding from the shifter,” John said bending down and poking it.

Dean looked thoroughly repulsed. “That—that is the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

John chuckled in spite of himself. “That’s shifters for you.”

“No, but seriously. They shed like freakin’ lizards that is just—“

A faint sound of footsteps could be heard and John pressed his hand against Dean’s mouth and motioned for him to be quiet. Dean immediately clutched the silver knife in a ready position and John pulled out his gun. The footsteps grew louder and Dean could hear them echo through the empty building. The claustrophobic feeling intensified as a new wave of smells hit Dean’s nose and he thought he would throw up.

“Dad?” a voice whispered. “Dean?”

John put his gun down. “Sam? We’re down here, underneath the stairs.”

Sam’s lanky figure came into view as he bounded down the stairs. “I found the remote to open the main gate. I guess they completely shut the ride down, and once everyone left the gates all sealed.”

“How’d you get it?” Dean asked. “I thought some guy was yelling at you for snooping around.”

“Nah,” Sam waved away his concern. “A guy like that was pretty easy to get past. What do you take me for? A total idiot?”

“What?” Dean looked taken aback. “No, that’s not what I meant—I just—“

“Just teasing you, bro,” Sam winked.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean mumbled. “Weird.”

“Did you find anything else?” John asked.

“No, I don’t know where the shifter is,” Sam admitted. “But I know where it will be.”

John motioned for Sam to continue. “These are all rides where the shifter has already been. If you look at the map of the park, he’s working clockwise. The next stop he’ll be targeting is in Frontierland.”

John looked at Sam slightly flabbergasted. “Uh—nice, Sammy.”

“I’ll show you the way, let’s go,” Sam said pushing to the front of the Winchester pack and climbing up the stairs.

“Way to go geekboy,” Dean muttered.

Sam didn’t even bother coming up with a witty rejoinder.

“Fine then be a bitch,” Dean told him.

“Don’t call me names, Dean,” Sam called over his shoulder.

Dean’s blood ran cold. Sammy had been acting weird from the get-go. And how the hell did he know what the shifter’s pattern was? He told him just yesterday that it was completely random. Plus he hadn’t understood Dean was teasing him…

“Dad,” Dean whispered grabbing the back of his father’s jacket. “I don’t think that’s Sammy.”

John froze and quietly tilted his ear towards Dean. “How do you know?”

Dean struggled to form a coherent sentence. “He just—he isn’t acting—I mean he’s being different, I don’t know.”

“Dean,” John whispered urgently. “I need to know if that’s him or not and I need a definite answer right now.”

Dean’s eyes flitted back and forth from his father to his little brother’s back. “I—I don’t think it’s him.”

That was all the confirmation John needed before grabbing the back of Sam’s jacket and throwing him down the stairs. Sam tumbled onto his side and hit his head sharply against the corner of the stairs, and an unfamiliar gun fell out of the back of jeans.

“Dad!” Sam cried out. “What are you doing?”

“Sam!” Dean shouted instinctually before being held back by John who already had his gun pointed in between Sam’s forehead.

“You’re not Sam,” John spat clicking off the safety.

“I am, please,” Sam cried tears beginning to pool in his large hazel eyes. “Please.”

“Shut up,” John snarled leaning in so the shifter could see his face. “Where’s my son?”

“I am your son!” Sam shouted once more. Sam’s hazel eyes found their way to Dean’s. “Dean…please…”

Dean stared at his little brother in horror and forced himself to turn away. _It isn’t Sam. It isn’t Sam. It isn’t Sam._

“Tell me where my son is or this bullet goes through your skull,” John slammed Sam into the pavement.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and a steady stream of blood was forming a pool at the base of his head. He opened his eyes again with a smile gracing his lips. “So what gave me away?”

“Answer the damn question!” John shouted.

“Your son’s fine, Johnny. Having a friendly chat with the police about breaking and entering. Don’t give yourself an aneurism,” the shifter laughed. “Although if you did, maybe your kid would stop having such a strained relationship with you. Guilt’s supposed to make you feel remorseful or some shit.”

John blinked. “Shut the hell up.”

“I mean,” the shifter continued with a grin. “I’d hate if you were my dad too. Your son doesn’t want to live in a constant cycle of death and violence. He wants stability. He wants _safety._ ”

“You better shut your mouth before I make you!” John shouted.

The shifter gave a raucous laugh that sounded so wrong coming from Sam. “One day you’re going to lose him and it’ll be great knowing it was all your fault. I can’t wait until it eats you away.”

John paled.

“That’s not Sam talking, dad!” Dean shouted.

“Oh big brother, I’d forgotten you were there,” the shifter smirked. “It is easy to forget the non-essential piece of the family. Dad forgets you. I forget you. Mommy forgot you.”

“Shut up,” Dean hissed.

“I mean sure, I care for you and all…but it’s not enough,” the shifter elaborated. “Dad’s man through and through, right Dean? You’ll never strain your limited brain functioning enough to see my side of things even when you know I’m right. I’m a leader, Dean. Not a follower, like you. I don’t _need_ you.”

Dean felt like ice. All he could do was stand there and essentially hear his little brother tell him that he was a mindless drone. Part of Dean wondered if what he said was true. Sure, he hadn’t been the greatest scholar, but he’d always tried hard to be there for Sammy, hadn’t he? And yeah, he sided with dad a lot, but that was because dad was experienced and knew what to do. _The non-essential piece of the family._ Sam’s voice repeated that over and over in his head.

“I’m done with you,” John said quietly.

The shifter laughed again. “Go ahead. Kill me. I’ve clearly already killed you.”

Dean forced himself to shut his eyes as his dad blew Sam away.

John panted heavily and looked away from the corpse of his younger son. “There’s no way we can carry this outside of the ride and we can’t burn it under the ride.”

“What do you want us to do?” Dean swallowed.

“Get rid of thumb prints and dental records so that when people come snooping around it isn’t traced back to Sam,” John muttered dejected. “This is going to be disgusting…but after that, let’s cover the body with the old skins.”

Dean looked green at the thought. “You’re right. That is disgusting.”

The two Winchesters worked quickly and efficiently. John tasked himself with removing fingerprints and dental records. It was much more gruesome and Dean didn’t need to deal with that. Instead, Dean would deal with covering the shifter in old skin. The slime covered his Mickey Mouse T shirt and left a rancid stench on the fabric. John wondered if what the shifter said was true. Did Sam really hate him that much? John tried not to think of all the missed birthdays, absent parent-teacher conferences, and forced hunts. He tried hard to be a good parent…it just didn’t always work out. He often found himself at a fork in the road where he could be a good father or he could keep his kids safe. The latter won out more than not. Sammy was only 17 and he couldn’t possibly understand what it was like as a parent to have to argue all the time because safety trumped everything else…then again, John realized he didn’t really understand what it was like to be Sam. Somewhere along the lines he stopped being ‘dad’ and became ‘sir.’ It was a painful thought and John pushed it out of his mind.

“Ugh, let’s go,” Dean mumbled wiping his hands on his pant leg. “I don’t want to be in this room any longer than we have to.”

“I think we’re about done,” John agreed picking up the remote to open the gate off the ground. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Sam had been sitting in the holding room trying to find something to pick the lock on the handcuffs with, all the while fearing that his evil twin would kill his family. _No, you can’t think like that. Panicking will make things worse,_ Sam reasoned with himself. The room was completely barren, other than a chair, and as far as Sam knew the guy at the front desk had seen him stroll out of here an hour ago with the idea that he’d been released. Damn soundproof rooms. Sam tried making his hand smaller and tugging on the cuffs, but all that did was rub his wrist raw and lead to a ticklish sensation as blood scurried down his hand.

            Just as Sam was thinking about a way to break the small window of the door, the man from the front desk walked in, tailed by his father and brother.

Dean was giving him the thumbs up, and Sam felt himself sigh in relief. Of course his family was okay. They were always okay.

The old man unlocked Sam’s hand. “I am so sorry about this ordeal. These two officers informed me that the person they’re looking for escaped a few hours ago and that you’ve been sitting here waiting for the police department for quite some time. I don’t know how he could have slipped past me since there was only one person before…Anyway, if there’s anyway I can make your day here at Disneyland better, please, please let me know.”

Sam felt a bit badly for the old man. Poor guy thought he was going nuts. He felt bad, sure…but not bad enough. Sam quickly exposed his bloody wrist and shook it in front of the man. “Uh, yeah, the officers were right. I came here on a vacation with some friends and this has been a terrible experience.”

The man’s eyes widened. “I’ll give you fast passes if you’d like—you can cut to the front of the line to whatever ride you want!”

Sam pretended to consider the offer. “Maybe. I’m sure my parents will want me to talk to my lawyer about wrongful imprisonment and treatment of a minor and the irreparable emotional damages though…”

The man looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “How about a stay at the Disney hotel resort? All expenses paid for the week.”

Sam smiled cherubically. “I’ll need three passes.”

* * *

 

“Way to go, Sammy!” Dean encouraged as soon as they were out of the Disneyland prison. “I didn’t know you were such a manipulative little shit. I’ve never felt closer to you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up. How’d you guys know the shifter wasn’t me?”

“Let’s just say he was more of a downer than you,” Dean told him.

“Well what happened? Did he say anything?” Sam asked earnestly.

Dean’s eyes briefly met his father’s.

“No,” John told him. “He just kept trying to tell us he was you. He didn’t complain nearly enough for it to be you, though, so we saw right through that.”

Sam snorted. “Nice, dad. Way to take a leaf out of Dean’s book. How’d you get rid of the body?”

John gave Sam a faint smile. “You probably don’t want to know.”

“Seriously, man,” Dean mumbled. “You don’t wanna know.”

Sam nodded getting the gist of it. “Glad you’re both okay.”

“You’re such a chick, Samantha,” Dean teased.

“Don’t be so immature,” Sam shot back.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“God, I’m glad you’re back,” Dean laughed.

“Uh—sure…” Sam looked a little concerned. “Hey Dean?”

“Mmm?”

“We just got fast passes.”

“Wonderful deduction, Sherlock.”  
            “I’m pretty sure the Star Wars ride takes fast passes…”

Dean’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas. “Out of the way, I’ve got a universe to save!”

Sam looked at his dad who was looking dumbstruck. John gave Sam a small shrug and started laughing. Sam joined in, and for once it felt relatively easy.


	19. Applications

**Chapter 19: Applications**

 

_ Early October 2001 _

Sam Winchester winced as the Impala hit a nasty pothole and pulled into the Singer Salvage Yard. His bruised ribs and mild concussion weren’t the worst injuries he’d ever gotten, but the bumpy road wasn’t helping. Worse off were his father and brother who each had nasty gashes that would need at least a few stitches each.

“How you holding up, Dean?” Sam asked from the backseat.

“Just peachy,” Dean growled holding his side. Blood had soaked through his white shirt and was now coating his hands.

Sam glanced at his father through the rearview mirror. He had a deep cut that ran across his forehead that spattered his entire face in crimson. It looked worse than it actually was. Sam scowled in spite of himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t told his dad that three people would scarcely be enough to take care of a black dog, let alone a small pack of them. No one ever listened to him.

The Impala pulled to a stop just in front of Bobby’s porch and the front door opened with a bang. Bobby came out with a flask of holy water in his hand, clearly not expecting visitors at 3 am on a Wednesday.

John gingerly opened the door as he took a step out with his hands up to show Bobby he was non-threatening. “Hey Bobby.”

Bobby paled at the crusted blood that covered the entirety of John’s face. “Jesus Johnny, what the hell have you idjits gottin’ yourselves into now?”

Sam exited the Impala quickly to help his brother out. Dean hissed in pain as he slowly stood up, leaning on Sam for support. Sam held Dean firmly, but gently as he tried to make his way up Bobby’s porch.

Bobby’s eyes darted back and forth between John and the two younger Winchesters as he threw his hands in the air. “All I want is one damn night o’ sleep without someone bangin’ on the door.” He stalked off into his house and Sam took that as a cue that Bobby was inviting them graciously into his home. He unceremoniously lugged Dean into the house and deposited him onto the nearest chair.

“Watch it!” Dean yelped.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam muttered.

John came in right after and headed straight for the bathroom to wash his face off.

“So any of you care to tell me what happened?” Bobby said reappearing with a medical kit and whiskey.

“Black dog,” Dean gasped. “It got the better of us, I guess.”

“I told Dad we weren’t enough to stop it,” Sam quipped.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean glared at him.

‘It’s true,” Sam continued. “And then it turned out there was more than one. A mom and her pups turned Dean into a chew toy.”

“Yeah well, I had the last laugh,” Dean attempted to smirk through the pain. “They’re all dead, and I’m not.”

“You will be if you bleed out,” Sam pointed out.

“What the hell was your fool father thinkin’?” Bobby asked exasperated as he poured a glass of whiskey and handed it to Dean. “Drink it.”

“He wasn’t,” Sam said in disgust as his brother knocked back the drink in two gulps.

“Sam. Stop,” Dean was staring daggers at him, as if daring him to say anything else against their dad.

“How the hell did you get so beat up, anyway?” Bobby said eyeing Dean’s side more closely. “That’s a helluva scratch Cujo gave you.”

“It was my fault,” Dean said quickly before Sam could open his mouth. “I was supposed to lure the black dog out and Dad and Sam were in position to shoot it with silver bullets, but we weren’t counting on the fact that there were three of them. We each took one down, but not before they took a little of us with ‘em too.”

“We went in blind and unprepared,” Sam said angrily. “We should’ve done more research.”

“Sam, drop it,” Dean sighed.

Sam looked at Bobby pleading for him to take his side. Bobby looked away and muttered “I’ll be having some words with yer Daddy later about being too trigger happy.”

Dean looked at Sam angrily with a ‘Now dad’s gonna get yelled at and it’s your fault’ look. Sam ignored his brother and pulled out a pair of scissors from the medi-kit just as his father reentered the room, looking pale but noticeably less bloody.

“I’m gonna need a few stitches,” John told Bobby. “Mind helping me out here quickly? Sam can get Dean’s stitches.”

“What am I? Your nurse?” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Come into the kitchen, there’s more light.”

“Gettin’ old, Bobby?” John smirked.

“I can still kick your ass ten ways from Sunday,” Bobby warned.

Sam watched the two older hunters leave for the kitchen and h began cutting away at Dean’s blood-soaked shirt.

“That was my good shirt,” Dean complained.

Sam ignored him, carefully stripping away the pieces of cotton that were clinging to Dean’s bloody side. “Stop whining, it was a Walmart T shirt.”

“You really need to work on your bedside manner, doc,” Dean fidgeted as Sam touched his exposed flesh.

Sam stepped back and evaluated how his brother seemed to prefer his right side. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Dislocated,” Dean hissed.

“Alright, before I stitch you up I’m going to pop it back in. Sit up a little for me,” Sam demanded.

Dean inched forward slowly and Sam took hold of his arm. “On the count of three, Dean.”

Dean inhaled sharply and prepared for the worst.

“One…two…” Sam pushed his brother’s arm back into the socket quickly before Dean could struggle.

“Ow! You bitch!” Dean howled. “That was not three!”

“The anticipation wouldn’t made you tense up,” Sam said apologetically.

Dean leaned against the chair again breathing incredibly rapidly and let out something akin to a moan.

The youngest Winchester opened the bottle of peroxide and poured a bit onto a large cotton ball.

“This is going to sting a little,” Sam warned.

“I know how it works, just get it over with,” Dean grunted.

Sam gently pressed the peroxide to Dean’s side in attempt to clear away the blood from the open wound. Dean bit his lip to stop a whimper from leaving his lips.

“Sorry,” Sam said sympathetically as he continued to dab his brother with the cotton ball. “I know it sucks.”

Dean just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

“Alright,” Sam said straightening up. “You’re going to need about 10 stitches for the worst part of the gash. The ends of the wound will hold with butterfly bandages, I think.”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Dean pointedly looked at the bottle of whiskey sitting on the table.

Sam sighed and poured him another glass, knowing it’d probably help dull the pain. “Just don’t pass out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dean knocked back the amber liquid and closed his eyes in satisfaction.

“I’m going to start. Don’t move,” Sam ordered. He carefully threaded the needle and pierced his brother’s side. Dean tensed, but Sam kept a steady hand and continued to zig-zag the needle as fast as he could while still doing a decent job.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouted. “Fuck! Dammit!”

“Sorry, but you need to keep still, Dean,” Sam instructed. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“You’d make a good doctor,” Dean ground out with his eyes clenched shut. “You have that sissy voice that tries to comfort people.”

“It’s called compassion. Most people value it,” Sam said mildly.

“You’re still a pansy,” Dean clenched his jaw trying to block out the pain. He knew Sam was fixing the worst of the wound now because it was sending a sharp pain down his entire torso.

Sam ignored his brother’s quip, and continued sewing him shut. There was something so familiar with the scene that lay before him, and it made Sam sick. He shouldn’t be _used_ to trying to put his brother back together after being forced to kill something most people couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“I think you’re almost good to go,” he told Dean tying up the stitches. “Let me just put on the butterfly bandages.”

“Thank god,” Dean muttered. Sam ignored him and carefully held the remainder of his brother’s skin with the sticky bandages and hoped it would be enough.

“Done,” Sam said satisfied, looking over his own work.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said gingerly inspecting himself.

“No problem,” Sam said wiping his brother’s blood off of his hands. “I just wish I hadn’t had to do this in the first place.”

“You know you’re better at stitches than me,” Dean said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam mumbled as he put the medical supplies back into their bag.

Dean sighed wearily. “Look, Sammy, I know it’s not pleasant, but it’s part of the job.”

“Sick of the job,” Sam said to himself.

“What was that?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam said looking up innocently. “Just forget I said anything. We should probably see what’s taking dad and Bobby so long.”

Dean stared at his little brother intently for a moment. “Just… it’s not _anyone’s_ fault. Shit happens. We’re all good.” By ‘anyone,’ Sam knew Dean was referring to their father.  Sam gave a curt nod and helped his brother up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

Bobby and John looked to be in the middle of a heated glaring contest that immediately ended with the appearance of the two youngest Winchesters.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked with an air of forced casualty.

Bobby swallowed. “Nothin’ boy. I was jus’ tellin’ yer Daddy here to eat something. You should too.”

“Not really hungry,” Dean said not believing Bobby for one moment. “But I’ll have something to drink. I’m thirsty.”

Bobby walked to the fridge and placed a juice box in front of Dean. “Drink.”

Dean snorted. “A juice box? What am I, in preschool?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Bobby said. “You need somethin’ sugary since you’ve lost a lot of blood. Now drink it, or I’ll be forced to resort to more extreme measures.”

Dean was about to retort with a snappy response, but decided against it. Bobby might actually hold true to his word. Sourly, he punched the straw through the little hole at the top of the box and sipped the sickeningly sweet grape juice. _How freaking humiliating._

Bobby tossed one to John and narrowed his eyes at him until John reluctantly opened the juice box and began drinking it too. Sam suppressed a grin; the only person his dad ever looked to be mildly intimidated by was Bobby.

“What about you, Sam?” Bobby asked. “You hurt?”

“Not really,” Sam shrugged. “Hit my head when I fell, and possibly bruised myself, but not anything too bad.”

Bobby moved towards Sam and tilted his chin up so he could shine a penlight into his eyes. “You’ve got a mild concussion, but you should be okay. Show me where you fell.”

“I’m fine, really,” Sam insisted.

“What is it with you Winchesters and wanting to be martyrs? Even hunters don’t like breaking bones,” Bobby said frustrated.

Reluctantly Sam lifted up his shirt to show a scrape that ran across his lower back and a spectacular array of bruising that was beginning to take form across his left side.

Bobby stalked over to the cabinet and tossed Sam a bottle of aspirin. “Take these and try and stay awake at least a half hour.”

Sam nodded gratefully and dry-swallowed two round pills.

“I’m going to bed,” john announced tossing his juice box into the trashcan. “Thanks for everything, Bobby. Boys go to bed.”

“Yes sir,” Dean nodded.

Sam thanked Bobby and helped Dean up the stairs to the spare bedroom they always shared whenever they were at Bobby’s house. Dean had barely made it into bed, when he passed out. All the whiskey and exhilaration had finally exhausted Dean and he couldn’t hold on any longer.

The youngest Winchester sat in bed, letting his thoughts run wild. The way this last hunt went was a lucky break; it could have been much worse. Sam wasn’t tired and he knew he wasn’t getting any sleep soon, so he quietly made his way down the stairs and out the front door. The crisp autumn air nipped at his nose, but he ignored it and opened the backseat of the Impala where his backpack was and pulled it out. He unzipped it a little and looked into the large pocket. There, in a large manila folder sat several pieces of paper that would’ve been unimportant to most people, but to Sam they were a salvation. The Stanford application papers sat neatly and accusingly at his disposal, all bright and white and unsoiled by his tumultuous life.  Sam felt a flurry of uneasiness just looking at them. That wasn’t his life. _Not yet._

Closing the backpack, Sam entered Bobby’s creaky house as quietly as possible and sat down in the middle of the library. Bobby had the most extensive book collection on anything anyone could ever want in the supernatural world. Although Sam hated hunting, he found lore and mythology fascinating and he often loved to sit and read for hours on anything he could get his hands on.

He clicked on a small desk lamp and looked around even though he knew he was the only person awake before pulling out the application. Sam looked at the stack of papers angrily. He didn’t see how he could even send an application in, for starters. What was his home address going to be? The Impala? Then there was the fact that if he could somehow get into Stanford by the grace of God, he wouldn’t have a damn way of paying for it. Sam’s reality revolved around hustled pool money and a string of stolen credit cards, none of which were suitable to put down on a FAFSA. His dad had to file his last two years worth of tax records for financial aid purposes. Sam snorted. _Sure, the last time we filed legal taxes was 1983, but that should fly._

Sam wondered how the entirety of his life had culminated in eating crappy 7-11 food every night and staying in motels that looked like they should be shut down due to health violations. It was his dad and his vendetta that had been blown out of proportion…and Dean so ready to follow him to hell and back. Sam knew he was supposed to follow along too—like some sacrificial lamb…but he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature to lie down and die. Sam laughed in spite of himself, if there was anything he had inherited from his father it was his stubborn streak.

Footsteps from down the hall interrupted Sam’s train of thought, and he scrambled to shove the papers back into his bag. He had just zipped up the backpack when Bobby came into the room.

“Boy what are you doin’ up at 5:30 in the mornin’?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Sam whispered. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Bobby looked at Sam so intensely, that Sam felt he had X-ray vision and could see the damning papers through his bag.

“Come to the kitchen with me,” Bobby said. It wasn’t a suggestion, so Sam wearily followed. Bobby flicked on a light and began brewing a pot of coffee while Sam sat on a kitchen stool feeling like a naughty child who’d been caught eating sweets before dinner.

“Aren’t you worried Dean and dad will wake up?” Sam asked nervously.

“Nah,” Bobby continued to make coffee. “I gave ‘em strong pain meds. They’ll be out for a few more hours at least.”

“Mmm,” Sam mumbled noncommittally. “Why were you and dad arguing earlier?”

Bobby looked slightly surprised, but quickly schooled his features into an exasperated look. “Because your daddy’s an idjit who should learn to listen to the best researcher besides me.”

Sam gave Bobby and small smile. “Thanks.”

Bobby slid him a cup of coffee and Sam accepted the warm beverage gratefully. It was a pleasantly bitter taste, and it warmed him to the core. “Go back to bed, Bobby. Don’t stay awake ‘cause of me.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “You’re not that important. I just wasn’t tired.”

“Thanks, Bobby. Your concern is touching,” Sam laughed.

Bobby took a seat across from Sam with a cup of coffee of his own. “So what’s eating you, kiddo?”

Now Sam looked up from his coffee surprised. “What? Nothing!”

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I’m stupid, boy?”

Sam desperately wanted to respond with a sarcastic ‘maybe,’ but Bobby scared him a little too much. “No.”

“Then what is it, you idjit?”

“Nothing, I promise I’m fine,” Sam tried to be convincing.

“Yeah sure, and I’m the Queen,” Bobby snorted. “Talk.”

Sam looked at his hands for a few moments before he heard himself asking, “What do I do when I can’t take this anymore?”

“Whaddya mean, Sam?”

“I just…” Sam struggled with the right way to say what he wanted to. “I just really hope this isn’t all there is.”

“All there is to what?” Bobby asked already knowing the answer.

“To life,” Sam said softly. “Is hunting all there is? I mean…what if…what if there’s more.”

Bobby sat speechless. What the hell had he stepped into? He was expecting Sam to be mad at his father about the last hunt, but this was Sam being completely candid and saying things Bobby suspected he’d never told anybody…and it was completely above his pay grade.

“What do you want, Sam?”

Sam looked up quickly. “I—I don’t know. I just know that this road…it ends bloody or…sad.”

Bobby wished he could tell Sam he was wrong, but he wasn’t one for bullshitting through his teeth. “You wanna stop huntin’?”

Sam averted his eyes and stared into the black liquid before him. “Yes.” It was barely a whisper, but he knew Bobby had heard him.

Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t make a decision for you, Sam. I can’t tell you what to do. I also can’t tell you your daddy and brother will be okay with this.”

Sam looked at Bobby, his eyes swimming in desperation. “I know.” His voice was surprisingly strong. “I know that…but if I have a chance, I have to take it.”

Bobby tentatively placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. “You do what you need to do to be happy, Sam. They’ll get over it, eventually. Of course they’ll be angry. Furious, even…but it’s your life, kid.”

Sam nodded in understanding, not risking looking up at Bobby in fear that tears would start flowing. No matter what would happen, there was somebody in the world who wouldn’t hate him because of what he was going to do. He loved his father and brother more than anything in the world, despite the incessant arguing. Maybe if he tried to have his own life the fighting would stop and they could get along better. Maybe Dean could realize that there was more than one path to choose from. Maybe his dad could step back and realize how pointless this all was. Maybe.

Sam finally spoke again, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack. “I want to apply to college.”

Bobby gave a low whistle. “Whatcha wanna study?”

Sam trusted himself to look at Bobby in the eye again and smiled. “Probably law. It’d come in handy given dad and Dean’s track record.”

Bobby snorted. “Damn straight.”

“There’s a problem though,” Sam murmured.

“What?”

“I don’t have any home address, consistent high school transcripts, or any tax forms to file for a scholarship,” Sam explained.

Bobby sighed and he knew where Sam was headed, and he didn’t like it.

“If I don’t have these things, I can’t even attempt to try and get in,” Sam continued. “Stanford’s a long shot at best…but it’s impossible without these things.”

“If you want something, spit it out!” Bobby ordered.

Sam sighed. “Look, Bobby, I won’t be angry if you say no. I know it would put you at odds with my dad if he ever found out…and I don’t want to drag you into what’s bound to be a family feud—“

“Boy I was dragged into the family feud the moment you boys stepped on my porch all those years ago,” Bobby interrupted. “To hell with your dad. I help him out on hunts all the time, it’s only fair if I help you.”

Sam could feel his mouth hanging open like an idiot, and he quickly snapped it shut. “Are—are you sure?”

“Yes, you damn idjit,” Bobby rolled his eyes. “You boys are far more helpful around here than your daddy ever is. What is it that you need me to do?”

Sam couldn’t help himself, and he abruptly stood up and gave Bobby a bone-crushing hug. Much to his surprise, Bobby didn’t push him away. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. Now getoffa me you sentimental idjit,” Bobby said affectionately.

“I’m going to need to use your address,” Sam started slightly pink due to the burst of emotion he just displayed. “And…well I’m going to need you to falsify tax records for my dad and sign them…and then you’ll have to call all the school’s I’ve been to and ask for official transcripts and compile them together. You’d have to send me all this info by December 15th…” Sam bit his lip, knowing he was asking too much.

“Falsifying taxes?” Bobby raised an eyebrow. “You think I can do that?”

“I know you can,” Sam said confidently. “You’re the best I know.”

“That is true,” Bobby conceded. “And do you have the list of all the school’s you’ve been to?”

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “There are 19 of them… I’ll email you all of them. Do you know how to use an email?”

“Do I know how to use an email? I should smack you for that!”

“Just checking,” Sam smirked. “Dad doesn’t really understand them. He says they’re for lazy antisocial people.”

“Your dad’s the most antisocial person I know,” Bobby scoffed.

“Tell me about it,” Sam laughed. “I’ll send you everything I need over email sometime later today.”

“Good. Now go to bed, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Bobby ordered.

Sam was about to protest, but a large yawn betrayed him and he grudgingly admitted defeat and went to bed. It was the best he’d slept in years.

* * *

 

_ April 2002 _

            It had been months since Bobby had helped Sam compile and send out the application to Stanford. He’d sent out the final copy around mid-November which comprised of Sam’s essays, his short answer questions, his official transcript (which had been a bitch to collect) and John’s genuine falsified taxes. It hadn’t taken him all that long to do. In fact, Sam’s portion had taken longer than anything else. Apparently the fool kid had spent hours agonizing over every word in his damn essays. Idjit.

            Despite all this, Bobby had forgotten about the application at all. Too many hunts and wounded hunters had come to his house since he had sent the papers out. So, it was surprising to find a cardinal envelope in the mail addressed to Samuel Winchester. Bobby debated whether or not he should open it, and ultimately decided to open it and send Sam the scanned pages if it was good news. If it was bad news…Bobby grimaced. He’d decide what to do about that later.

            He tore into the envelope and extracted a folder that had a picture of laughing students on the cover. Schools didn’t send smiling children as rejection letters…He flipped open the folder and there at the top was a heavy piece of cream-colored paper.

_Dear Samuel Winchester,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to join the Stanford University Class of 2006. Ever since Stanford was founded in…_

            Bobby skimmed the rest of the letter quickly and flipped through the packet to the financial aid papers.

_ Stanford University Expenses: _

_Tuition: $40,000_

_Room and Board: $15,000_

_Books: $1000_

_Personal Expenses: $1,000_

_Total Cost: $57,000_

_ Resources: _

_Stanford University Grant: $57,000_

_ Expected Cost: _

_$0.00_

            Bobby couldn’t believe what he was reading. The little sonuvabitch actually pulled it off. Fighting off the urge to sit down, Bobby scanned all the information in the packet and emailed it to Sam with a note: _You did it, kid. Now it’s up to you to decide what you want to do._

* * *

 

            Sam Winchester nervously refreshed his email starting at 2 pm on April 1st, even though he knew responses didn’t come out until 5 pm and Bobby would have to scan all necessary materials.

            He sat in an empty Iowa public library, while Dean and dad were off hunting a Rawhead. He had somehow managed to convince them to let him stay behind since he only had a month and a half left of high school anyway.

            Sam found a book to read to distract himself, but wasn’t very successful, so he gave up and did his boring advanced calculus homework. The repetition of it, was soothing and he could get lost in the rhythm of it all.

            A quarter past 5 Sam heard a ding and he looked up from his homework. The mouse hovered over the email for a brief moment, and Sam couldn’t take the anticipation anymore and clicked the email.

            Bobby’s note read: _You did it, kid. Now it’s up to you to decide what you want to do._

Sam’s heart pounded so loudly he was surprised the guy on the computer next him didn’t tell him to shut up. If Bobby said the choice was his then that meant…

            Sam spent the next 30 minutes reading and re-reading the documents. He had done it. He had acquired his golden ticket out of hunting forever…now the problem was actually being brave enough to take it.

            On the one hand, Sam was elated. He could pack his bags and say goodbye to the life right then and there and never look back. On the other hand, saying goodbye to the life would mean saying goodbye to his family—to Dean. He could never live like that. Sure, he wanted out, but he didn’t want to shut his family out.

            Sam’s mind raced. Had any hunter ever peacefully left the life? Was there a possibility he could have a balance of both? He could go to college and meet up with his family over the holidays? Hell, he could even hunt if they wanted him to. They’d want him to be happy, right? It wasn’t a secret that his dad wanted him to follow in his footsteps, but maybe if he went to school, his dad could see beyond the revenge mission that clouded his judgment so often. Dean would have more time to hunt with dad and Sam wouldn’t constantly be complaining or arguing. It would be good. It had to be good.

            A small nagging voice in the back of Sam’s mind wouldn’t leave him alone, though. _They’re going to hate you. You’re betraying them and the family and mom. You’re selfish. You aren’t thinking of anyone but yourself. Dean won’t ever forgive you._

Sam shoved the thoughts from his mind. That was fear. Nothing good ever came out of acting in fear. He just had to have enough guts to take the first step.

            However the fear was too great to overcome easily. Positive thinking just wasn’t enough to push Sam over the edge, so he began to channel his anger. He was angry at his father for ruining any semblance of normalcy he could’ve ever had. He was angry because he didn’t quite know what ‘normal’ actually meant. He was angry he’d never had a dumb family picture for the holidays or an argument about staying out past curfew. He was pissed off because no matter what he did it was never good _enough._ Somehow, it was always Sam to set dad off. It was always his fault when something went wrong. He either didn’t run fast enough, or he didn’t shoot accurately, or it was his fault for breathing in the first place. Everything was so unreasonable. And Dean just agreed with dad. All the damn time. Sam knew Dean loved him, but it wasn’t enough. He would always choose dad over him. Dad always knew best. Dean was simply a worker bee content to let someone dictate his every choice. Sam shook his head in disgust at himself. He couldn’t believe how whiny and bitchy he sounded… but it was enough. The white-hot anger had pushed him to his limits.

            Shakily, Sam sent a short reply to Bobby.

            _Write back to Stanford. Tell them I’ve accepted their offer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Thanks for the feedback I've gotten on this story, I really appreciate it. It's been a long journey with this story, but I can feel it coming to a close. Only a few more chapters! This chapter is really Sam-centric, so I apologize that there wasn't more of a Winchester family dynamic here, but I felt that I had to have this chapter in this story in order for Sam's decision to leave home make more sense. Plus, I had always wondered how he had gotten all the official documents and forms for his college application (let me tell you there are a lot of them). So... my first thought was Bobby. Maybe it's out of character for him, maybe it's not...but I know he loves the Winchesters as if they were his own boys, and ultimately I think what a parent really wants is for their kid to be happy. So...yeah let me know what you thought! Reviews are always appreciated, and I always read them despite not replying (I'm rubbish at this website). Coming up is the fallout of Sam's decision that we all know... 
> 
> Disclaimer: Still don't own anything, sadly.


	20. Parting

**Chapter 20: Parting**

_ Mid-June 2002 _

            Dean sat in a large booth picking at the stitches he had in his left hand. They were going to leave a scar. Not that Dean minded, of course. Scars oftentimes told stories that Dean would look at fondly due to the memory they elicited, or looked at them warily when they served as cautionary tale. In Dean’s line of work scars weren’t a rare occurrence, and he had enough scars to litter his body from head-to-toe…besides, chicks love scars.

            “Dean quit picking at that,” Sam admonished from the seat across him.

            Dean shook the sleeve of his flannel shirt and let the sleeve fall over his hand and glanced at the wholly unappetizing menu before him. Dean was beginning to regret his decision to take Sam out to dinner to celebrate his high school graduation since he had picked some god-awful sushi restaurant. Who eats _raw fish?_ That’s just wrong on so many levels. The little brat probably picked the most disgusting place just to punish Dean.

Flipping through the menu to look for something edible, Dean rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. He only hoped this little dinner would smooth things over with Sam. They had been forced to leave the last town they were at 2 days before Sam’s graduation due to complications with stolen credit card trails and they’d had the stupid diploma mailed to Bobby’s.  Dean didn’t see why it was such a big deal. Hell, he never even finished high school and was fine. Sam didn’t see it that way though, and he’d pitched a fit…bigger than usual. Tension was high when all three Winchesters were together, so Dean had tried to put as much distance between Sam and their dad as possible. Hopefully this shitty dinner would show Sam that he was waving a white flag.

“Sam is there anything here that won’t make me gag?” Dean asked glancing up from the menu.

“Shhh,” Sam whispered annoyed. “You can’t say things like that, it’s rude.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave the manners to you, golden boy.”

“You should just get teriyaki,” Sam told him. “It’s what little kids who don’t enjoy sushi get. You and the 6 year olds who frequent this restaurant should enjoy that.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if kids have better tastes than the asshats who eat here,” Dean said with a shrug. “What are you getting, anyway?”

“Spicy Tuna Roll with Albacore Sashimi,” Sam closed his menu looking pleased with his decision.

Dean stared at him blankly. “And that is….?”

“It’s a sushi roll with raw tuna, avocado and cucumber. The sashimi is a dish with several slices of raw albacore cured and prepared in a special sauce,” Sam explained, albeit a little impatiently.

Dean threw him a revolted look. “And you like this better than a burger and fries? It’s like we’re not even related.”

“Thank god for small favors,” Sam retorted as a young waitress came up with her pen and paper at the ready.

“Hi guys, my name’s Ashley and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine, thanks,” Sam smiled.

“I’ll have a beer,” Dean answered still looking at the menu.

“Alright,” Ashley smiled sweetly. “Anything I can get started for you, or do you boys need a few more minutes?”

“We’re ready to order.” Sam glanced at Dean who was still frantically scanning for something Dean-worthy in the menu. “He’s going to have the chicken teriyaki dinner, and I’m going to want a spicy tuna roll and albacore sashimi.”

Dean looked up from his menu with a scowl. He was the one who usually ordered the food, but he was out of his element here.

“Alright, your drinks will be coming right up,” Ashley’s perky voice said as she collected menus.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam said defensively. “You were still looking through the menu and I was ready to order.”

“Yes, because you’re the sun and we all revolve around princess Samantha,” Dean quipped.

“Hey it is _my_ graduation dinner, isn’t it?” Sam smirked. “So enjoy being a satellite for a few hours.” Honestly, Sam hadn’t even wanted a dinner. He was still too angry with his father and too irate with Dean to even want to go anywhere. So he picked a restaurant that Dean would hate in the hopes that Dean would leave him alone, but that royally backfired. So here he was, eating at a sushi restaurant in the middle of New Mexico, a completely landlocked state with no water near it whatsoever. The food was going to be _awesome._ A small part of Sam told him he deserved it for being a brat, but the majority of him was telling him his family sucked because they couldn’t even bother letting him go to his once-in-a-lifetime high school graduation.

“Yeah, well...now I know not to be so generous next time,” Dean rolled his eyes. “You’ve gone crazy with power, little bro.”

Sam actually huffed a laugh at that. “Oh definitely. The next thing you know I’ll be sitting on Wall Street a power-hungry tycoon.”

“Remember the little people,” Dean winked.

Ashley interrupted their discussion over whether Sam was becoming a megalomaniac as she placed their respective drinks in front of them.

“Thanks,” Sam nodded as she walked off.

Dean took a sip of the Japanese beer in front of him. “Well, it’s not PBR, but it’s actually pretty good.”

“It’s classy, Dean. What you’re tasting is class.”

Dean gave him a pointed look. “And how would you know what classy alcohol tastes like, Mr. Underage Drinker?”

“I’m 19, not 9,” Sam glared. “Dean you were the one who gave me my first beer, anyway. I was like 11 and it tasted like shit.”

Dean smiled fondly at the memory of Sam taking a sip and running to the sink to spit out the lukewarm liquid with a horrified look on his face as if Dean had betrayed him or something. “I’m the greatest older brother ever.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Modest, too.”

“Damn straight.” Dean held up his drink in a toast. “To the beginning of the rest of your life or whatever the hell kids say at graduations.”

Sam lifted his water glass. “You just used the most hackneyed line in the entire book of commencement speeches.”

“I’m sorry I’m not Shakespeare, whiner. Anyway, Dad and I are real proud of you, Sammy. Even if you are a massive geek.”

Sam clinked his glass to Dean’s bottle and took a large gulp of water, small seeds of guilt forming in his stomach. In two months he was planning on going to college and starting over. For the last time. Permanently. Yet, here was Dean paying for an expensive dinner because he’d wanted to be a brat. How could he go through with what he wanted? It felt like taking two steps forward and one step back.

Ashley interrupted Sam’s thought process as she placed their food in front of them. “Enjoy.”

Sam nodded at her and took a small bite of the sushi, and suddenly he wanted to be _anywhere_ but at the only sushi restaurant in a small New Mexico town. The fish tasted like iron in his mouth, and it felt so _wrong_ to be in the small eatery. How could he leave his brother? One foot in and one foot out…and sooner or later the time would come to make the final decision. For better or for worse. Sam wished he could shut his brain off and stop the thoughts that kept pouring out.

“Sammy?” Dean asked concerned. “You ok?”

Sam realized he’d pushed his food away without meaning to. “Wha—of course. Yeah, fine.”

“Is the food really that bad?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam stared at the plate before him. “Something like that.”

* * *

 

_ Mid-July 2002 _

            Dean ran his fingers lightly over the sealed gash in his hand. It had scabbed over and was a little inflamed since Dean didn’t take care of it too well, but had closed up nonetheless. He leaned against the window of the Impala on the passenger side, trying to stay awake. It was pretty late at night and they’d just finished up a particularly tiresome hunt. They had gone after a rawhead, only to realize that it wasn’t a rawhead at all and instead was a Kappa, a malevolent spirit that liked to drown people. Ultimately the three Winchester’s weren’t prepared and Sam had been held under water for a decent amount of time until they could get iron to repel it. Even in the faint light, Dean could see the bruises Sam was going to be sporting for a few weeks. Dean himself was wet and shivering and had a nasty headache from where he had hit the floor when the Kappa pushed him. The Impala was parked in front of the Singer Auto Salvage. John had thought Dean and Sam were both asleep, so he went ahead to talk to Bobby while Dean waited in the car with Sam.

Sam was lying in the backseat of the Impala, his long legs scrunched up in what could only be a highly uncomfortable position. Dean shifted slightly to look at his sleeping brother.

            Sam’s face was void of all emotion and he slept soundly, despite the cramped conditions. It brought a small smile to Dean’s face. Sam may have gotten tall and annoying, but when he slept Dean could see his 6-year-old brother who had wanted Dean to read to him. Dean remembered reading to Sam up until he was 8 years old and decided he could read on his own…but even then, Sam would still come to Dean with bright shining eyes, eager to tell him every little thing that happened in his books. Sometimes he’d come sit in Dean’s bed, leaning on the headboard silently reading. After a while, Dean would look over and discover Sam had fallen asleep and he’d gently pry the book from his hand, and slowly ease him into a sleeping position. Dean would just let him sleep next to him, oftentimes listening to his breathing; it was strong, steady, and comforting.

            Dean felt a pang of melancholy sorrow as he listened to Sam’s breathing. Once Sam was about 12 or so, he decided he was too old to sit next to Dean and read anymore. He kept to himself and was more moody. Sure, he joked around with Dean and they had stupid prank wars, but he never again sat next to Dean and eagerly told him the plot of his latest favorite book. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if it was something he’d done or said. He tried; god knows he tried really damn hard to give Sam a happy childhood. Obviously, shit happened and he couldn’t prevail all the time…but it wasn’t like he had completely sucked, right?

            Dean was torn from his train of thought when the front door to Bobby’s house was knocked off its hinges and came crashing to the ground with his dad along with it.

            Bobby came barreling out right after with a rifle cocked at his dad’s head and Dean’s heart almost stopped. He didn’t know whether it would be better to get out of the car or pretend to sleep; his dad and Bobby had gotten into squabbles before, but it was never as bad as this.

            Through the Impala he could hear his dad shouting. “You son of a bitch! What? Are you gonna shoot me? Do it, you coward!”

            Dean’s face was pale and in the cold moonlight he could see Bobby push the rifle into his dad’s forehead harder.

            Bobby’s snarl was muffled from the Impala, but Dean could still make out what he was saying. “Don’t test me, Winchester. I have done plenty worse than shoot an asshole full of buckshot.”

            Dean heard Sam shuffle from the backseat and he turned to face his little brother. Sam’s eyes were wide as saucers and he frantically looked from the entrance of Bobby’s house and back to Dean.

            “What’s going on?” Sam whispered sounding fearful.

            “I dunno,” Dean whispered back. Sam looked like a little kid again with his mouth in an ‘O’ shape and his voice wavering and fearful, instead of the confident steady baritone he had grown into. “Don’t worry, Sammy. Bobby won’t actually shoot dad.” Dean tried his best to sound sure, but he wasn’t sure how well he pulled it off.

            Dean turned back to the fight debating what he should do.

            “Your priority should be your boys and _their_ happiness!” Bobby thundered. “You’re gonna end up gettin’ yourself or them killed if you go on another reckless hunt like the last one!”

            “Yeah and you shootin’ me is sure to be real great for them!” John roared back. “They’re _my_ kids, so don’t you dare tell me how to raise them!”

            “Should we get off and help?” Sam asked.

            Dean turned to face his brother again with a slightly open-mouthed expression. Sam was willingly deferring authority to him and he hadn’t done that since…well…ever. Sam was stubborn and liked to make his own choices and butted heads with any sort of authority, and now he was willingly letting Dean make the important decision for him. “I—I don’t know. If it actually gets physical I’ll step in.”

            “What did dad do?” Sam asked again.

            “How do you know it was something dad did?” Dean asked. “I don’t know.”

            Dean saw Bobby lean in slightly and say something to his dad that had John scrambling to sit up and letting off a string of expletives.

            “Get out of here Winchester!” Bobby sneered. “Don’t step foot on my property again or I’ll shoot our ass full o’ buckshot.” Bobby glanced at the Impala briefly and nodded at the boys and stepped back inside without another word.

            John stood up and spat a mouthful of blood out onto the dirt road leading away from Bobby’s house and towards the Impala.

            Dean watched his dad stumble to the Impala and pull open the driver’s side door and unceremoniously drop into his seat. The tension in the small cramped car was electric. John turned and slowly eyed both his boys as if daring them to say anything. For once, they both held their tongues and just looked a little shell-shocked. Pleased with the lack of questions John pulled out of the salvage yard with no intent of ever stepping foot there again.

            Dean opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what to say or ask. His dad and Bobby had obviously duked it out over him and Sammy; he just didn’t know the specifics of it all.

            He risked a glance at his brother in the backseat who shot him a ‘ _what the hell do we do?’_ look and Dean just gave a small imperceptible shrug. Truthfully, he didn’t know _what_ to do…but Sammy was looking at him again with that ‘you’ll fix this’ expression on his face, so Dean cleared his throat.

            “Uh—are we gonna stop at a motel soon, dad?”  
            “Maybe,” John’s clipped tone was a warning to shut up.

            Dean swallowed again. “Y—yeah, okay dad. Whatever happened back there w—“

            “Dean. Enough.”

            Those two words had Dean shrinking in his seat. “Yes, sir,” a mumbled reply came again. He caught Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror and Sam looked…disappointed.

            Maybe Sam didn’t need him after all.

* * *

 

_ Mid-August 2002 _

            Sam sat in the most disgusting house he’d ever been in, unrolling a thick sleeping bag. Squatting was never Sam’s preferred method of lodging, but this surpassed any horrible place they’d ever stayed. The entirety of the house smelled musty and damp, as if mold had been growing there for years. There was no working electricity or plumbing, so that was awesome. Then there was the thick layer of dust that coated every surface. Not to mention the mysterious green grime growing on the sink of the bathroom. Furthermore, there were rusted nails littering the floor along with bits of broken glass. To top things off, it was pouring outside, and the rain only served to enhance the wet dirt smell and the humidity that was so unbearable. Sam wasn’t even moving much and he could feel his T-shirt sticking to him like a second skin. They were only supposed to be there a few days at most, but every second felt claustrophobic.

            Sam set his things aside and was thankful they had so many lamps. The room was brightly lit, despite the lack of electricity, and Sam could see clearly where he was stepping so he could avoid the glass on the floor.

            Dean was setting camp up adjacent to him, with much more gusto and Sam didn’t know how anyone could hum along to “Back in Black” in the horribly depressing house.

            Sam could only think of the fact that in three weeks he was supposed to be in California starting college. He hadn’t thought of how he’d get there or how he was supposed to buy things or…anything. Sam wondered if this was his way of chickening out. ‘ _Whoops I’ve no way of getting there. Darn.’_ He wanted to go. So badly…but his family was _here._ The choice hardly seemed fair, but Sam had learned a long time ago that the universe didn’t give a shit about fair.

            Sam watched as his dad was rifling through old Latin books for some sort of information on elementals, a type of earth demon that was hardly cognizant of anything and acted as a devastating force of nature. They’d grappled with one once before, but that had been one causing small tornadoes. This one was causing torrential downpours, floods, and tsunamis near the coast. The banishing ritual was slightly different, so John was scouring all the books they owned to find something.

            “Sam do you have any other books in your duffel that might help?” John asked.

            Sam shook his head. “Not on demons, no.”

            John sighed and continued looking through his books as Dean came over to Sam and smirked. “What books do you have, geekboy?”

            “Um, nothing important to this,” Sam mumbled. He had a copy of _The Outsiders, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,_ and a small journal in which he kept a few small pictures of his family and the Stanford acceptance letter info that he had printed out. Nothing he was going to share with Dean that was for sure.

            “Oh really?” Dean flicked a tiny piece of glass at him. “Whatcha hiding? A penthouse forum?”

            “No Dean, some of us have upstairs brains too,” Sam snapped.

            “Geez grumpy,” Dean mumbled sitting back on his own sleeping bag area. “Are you PMSing or something?”

            “You’re disgusting,” Sam said without much effort.

            Dean smirked at him again and threw a nail at the back of Sam’s head.

            “What the hell, Dean?” Sam yelped. “Stop it!”

            “I didn’t do anything,” Dean said innocently flicking another nail his way.

            “Stop!”

            Dean threw another nail at him before Sam chucked _The Outsiders_ at his head.

            “Knock it off boys,” John said sharply. Both Sam and Dean immediately stopped messing around. “Why don’t both of you go and get dinner to bring back?”

            “Sure dad,” Dean said jumping to his feet. “C’mon Sammy.”

            “It’s _Sam,_ ” but the youngest Winchester followed nonetheless.

            John watched as his boys left the rickety house in search of food and rolled his eyes. Sometimes they acted more like children than adults.

            John rubbed his eyes in irritation; the research on the elementals was going nowhere. He could have sworn that he had a demonology book that detailed the types of rituals used to exorcise elementals. The last person who’d been reading the book had been Sam, when John had asked him to look into the possibility of a Tengu existing. John strode over to Sam’s duffel and pulled out neatly folded clothes and several paperback books. He smiled because one of the books seemed to be about a wizard flying on a broomstick. A small tan book was also there and when John set it down on the table while he continued to rifle through Sam’s bag for the demonology book, the journal fell open to a spot where photos and several pieces of paper had been crammed into it.

            The eldest Winchester stopped his search momentarily when he noticed the pictures Sam had. John noticed that one of them was of Mary and him, and it seemed like the photo was taken in another lifetime. There was another photo of Dean and Sam when they were about 6 & 10 on a rusty tire swing. John laughed to himself a little as he remembered Sammy sitting on the swing despite Dean’s warning that the chain holding it could break. Sure enough, the chain snapped and Sam didn’t even cry. He just looked stunned and a little offended that the tire swing had dared break while he was on it. The last photo was a family picture taken a few years back near Yosemite. John was in the middle rolling his eyes at his kids, Dean had Sam in a headlock and Sam appeared to be attempting to claw Dean’s face. John felt the last photo was pretty representative of the Winchesters as a whole.

            John set the photos aside and picked up the thick packet of papers. Had Sam been printing out research and keeping it? John opened it and his eyes scanned the first few sentences without realizing what he was reading. He did a double take and read it again. And again. And again. He didn’t even realize that he was shaking and that his hands were crushing the gently folded acceptance letter. John’s vision was beginning to grey a little at the edges because he was so angry. _How the hell could Sam do this? Has he been planning to leave for months now? All this time I’ve wanted to keep him safe and he goes and does_ this?

            The timing of the entirety of the situation was unfortunate, because Sam and Dean walked back into the dingy house laughing about something stupid. John didn’t even stop before he grabbed Sam’s arm and harshly pulled him in front of him. Before Sam could even protest John shoved the letter into his face.

            _“_ What the hell is _this_?” he snarled.

            Sam blinked a few times before he realized what his dad was holding, and then all the color in his face vanished. “Where did you get that?”

            “You answer my question first,” John squeezed Sam’s arm tighter until Sam winced.

            Sam struggled to pull his arm back to himself. Shit. Shit. Shit. “It’s—it’s a college acceptance letter.” It came out more as a question than an answer.

            Dean turned and looked at Sam in horror, but Sam ignored him. He was more concerned with his dad right now.

            “Where did you get that?” Sam repeated, voice stronger.

            “Funny story that,” John said acidly. “I was looking for a demonology book, when I find a book in your bag. I don’t care much about it, so I put it on the table. It opens up to a random page where you’d shoved this into it.”

            “You shouldn’t be going through my things,” Sam said, glad his voice was stronger.

            John let go of Sam’s arm as if it were diseased, and Sam stumbled a bit. “When the hell were you planning on telling me Sam?”

            John’s eyes were brimming with a dark and quiet rage. Sam schooled his features into one of mastered defiance. “Before I left.”

            “How long have you been planning this?” John asked harshly. “How long!” John roared.

            Dean stepped in between his father and brother, fearing that one of them was going to do something they’d regret later on. “Hey, calm down! Stop it!”

            “Months!” Sam spat. “Years!”

            Dean took a slight step back. Sam had been planning on leaving for _years?_

            “And what? You’re just planning on walking away from the people who loved you your entire life to go have some fantasy adventure?” John shouted. “That’s not real. This is.”

            “Yeah well this blows!” Sam yelled. “Most people go their whole lives never knowing about one fucking monster and they get on just fine! We go out and search for these things like suicidal idiots!”

            “We’re saving people!” John said struggling to get past Dean. “We’re saving them and you only think of yourself! Your school, your plans, your life. The universe doesn’t revolve around you, you selfish bastard!”

            Sam gave a bitter laugh as he too pushed against Dean’s hand that was holding him back. “It’s all about _me?_ Sure, let’s pretend this whole damn existence isn’t just some poorly thought out revenge ploy to get the thing that killed mom! It’s obviously about Dean and me.”

            John grabbed the book nearest to him and threw it at Sam, but missed. “I’m doing this to keep you safe! Hunting isn’t a choice, it’s a lifestyle! You better damn well learn that soon, because you don’t have any say in this!”  
            “Hunting’s going to get us killed!” Sam screamed, not bothering to try and keep his tone at a reasonable sound. “When we all die it’ll be YOUR fault! I’m DONE! I’m done with all of it! Keeping us safe isn’t looking for other people’s nightmares! This isn’t living and I’m going to college whether you like it or not!”

            Dean subconsciously dropped his hands. Sam’s words had just hit him like a two-ton brick. Sam was going to leave. Sam was going to leave the family. Sam was going to leave _him._

John lunged forward when Dean released his grip and grabbed a fistful of Sam’s shirt. “You’re staying with your family and that’s final.”

            Sam knew what he was going to say was a cheap shot, but he couldn’t help himself. “Oh yeah? What would mom say? Do you think she’d want _this_ for us? Living in shithole after shithole and sewing each other up with dental floss? Dean never even finished high school, for god’s sake! Look around you! If there’s anything mom would’ve hated in life it would be THIS!”

            Sam felt his father’s fist connect with the side face before he even had time to register that he should probably try and block the punch. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground where rusty nails and glass embedded themselves into his palms and knees. Sam spit out blood and panted heavily for a second, before forcing himself to stand up. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wouldn’t. “Hit me all you want, dad. It’s not going to change my mind.”

            Dean hadn’t even rushed forward to step in front of his father again or stop Sammy from retaliating. He had just slumped into the wall behind him completely numb.

            Sam walked over and picked up his half open duffel and shoved the clothing back into it, along with the journal and swung it over his shoulder. Then he picked up his backpack with his wallet and swung that over his other shoulder. The silence was deafening.

            “Dean,” Sam said ignoring his father’s angry breathing. “You can come too.”

            As bad as it was for Dean to be ignored throughout the fight, Sam actually speaking to him was a thousand times worse. “Sammy, you know I can’t do that.” His voice came out soft and hurt. “We’re saving people here, man.”

            Sam sighed. He hadn’t actually expected Dean to come. Dean was ultimately his dad’s man through and through. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”

            Sam turned to leave when his dad finally spoke again. Surprisingly John’s voice was calm and calculated. “You walk out that door, don’t you _ever_ come back.”

            Sam felt his gut wrench. His dad couldn’t be serious could he? Sure, he’d expected him to be pissed, but disowning him forever? Sam dared a glance at Dean who looked ashen and terrified.

            “Sammy,” Dean said. With that one word Sam knew he was begging him to stay. Pleading for him to not do what he was about to do.

            Sam closed his eyes and said a small ‘sorry’ in his head for Dean. Then, he turned back and opened the door and walked right through it, allowing it to swing shut with a small _click._ Sam was done with theatrics, and he wasn’t going to give his dad the satisfaction of a slammed door.

            He stepped away from the porch of the old house half-expecting someone to come out and grab his collar and yank him back in the house. Hell, half of him wanted them to do it. But nobody did, so Sam kept walking with his two bags and weight of his life magically dissipating with each step. The rain poured down on Sam as he marched on down the old road that would take him to the nearest bus stop. It seemed right in a way that it would rain; he was washing himself clean of his old life. It’d been hard to put a name to what he had been feeling, but when he had time to clear his head a little he realized it was ecstasy. He was _free_ of the job, of the life, of dad… Sam threw his head back and let the warm rain hit his face. He felt _wonderful._

            20 minutes into his walk Sam was beginning to realize how heavy both his duffels were. Of course, it wasn’t helping that his hands had tiny pieces of glass stuck in them from when he hit the floor…and his face hurt from where his dad had clocked him. It was going to leave a lovely bruise come morning.

            Sam was momentarily blinded as the headlights of a car shone in his face. “Sam!”

            Sam would recognize that voice anywhere. “I’m not going back, Dean.”

            Dean slowed the Impala down so he could keep pace with Sam. “I’m not asking you to. Just get in, it’s pouring rain.”

            Sam had the crazy idea that Dean might kidnap him and force him to go back, but pushed the thought away and hopped into the passenger seat of the Impala. It was so familiar.

            Dean tossed Sam a first aid kit the moment he sat down. “Clean your hands or they’ll get infected.”

            Sam couldn’t tell if Dean felt upset or angry. He sounded angry, but there was something in his eyes and the way he avoided looking at Sam…

            “Uh, thanks.” Sam began pulling glass out of his hand and applying disinfectant.

            They drove in silence for a while until Dean finally spoke. “Dad doesn’t mean what he said. You can come back.”

            Sam swallowed. “I don’t want to.”

            Dean looked at him briefly and nodded. “Then I have nothing more to say.”

            Sam stared at his brother incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

            “What?”

            “No ‘please stay we need you’ or ‘come back so I can kick your ass’?” Sam asked.

            “Your mind’s already made up, and nothin’s gonna change it,” Dean said roughly pulling into the bus station.

            “I—yeah, I guess,” Sam said lamely. This was where he was supposed to get off and leave. Leave and never see his family again, because he was no longer welcome.

            Dean reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to Sam. “Take it.”

            Sam stared dumbfounded. Dean was supposed to dump him at the bus stop like the reject that he was. He was supposed to tell him to get out of the car and drive away. He was supposed to glare at Sam and tell him never to talk to him again. Whatever he was supposed to do, it wasn’t pull out all the money he had in the world and press it into his little brother’s lap.

            “Dean I can’t take your money.”

            Dean inhaled sharply. “Sam just take it.”

            “But—“

            “Take. The. Money.” Dean had a pained expression on his face. “Let it be one las—just please take it. Please, Sammy.”

            Sam numbly wrapped his fingers around the money. “Thanks,” he whispered.

            Dean looked at his little brother. Despite wanting to punch him for ditching him or grab him and take him back home, he did neither thing. He smiled. “This is your stop, Sam.”

            Sam nodded feeling like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth. “Dean—I—this isn’t—“

            Dean waved away Sam’s attempts to explain himself. “Your ride’s gonna leave.”

            “Yeah,” Sam mumbled and opened the door to the Impala. A morose thought crossed Sam’s mind and he wondered if this would be the last time he ever rode in her.

            Dean was looking straight at him, so Sam got off the car and stood with his two bags in his hands.

            “I’ll call,” Sam said. He didn’t know if he would though. Dean probably wouldn’t want to talk to him, and dad…dad had made himself clear.

            “’Course,” Dean nodded.

            Both brothers looked at each other in silence for a few moments, the rain continuing to pour onto Sam’s head.

            “Bye Dean,” Sam said softly taking the final step and closing the door.

            “Bye Sammy,” Dean whispered mostly to himself as he watched his little brother enter the greyhound station, and walk out of his life.

            Dean turned the Impala around and began driving back towards the run-down house they were currently residing in. He popped in a Led Zeppelin cassette tape and sang along because that was all he could do. Sing along, and try and fill the hole inside. The Impala seemed oddly empty and big without Sam, and Dean was left wondering if emptiness felt like loneliness.

            Dean parked in front of the house and let the music fill all his senses. He hadn’t even realized tears had silently made their way down his face. Dean leaned forward and rested his head on the wheel without even attempting to wipe away the wetness from his face. He just let the tears silently drip down the edge of his nose. Somewhere along the lines he had fucked up. And not just in the ‘I left the stove on sense.’ Sam had been so unhappy with his life that he chose to leave rather than be there anymore. Dean had never felt more worthless in his life. Not to mention that his sorrow was complicated because when he thought about it he was pissed.            He was massively pissed at Sam. After everything he’d done for Sam all his life he just waltzed right out as if it were nothing. Sam was selfish, dad was right. But dad was also selfish, just in a different sense. They both set their minds and hearts on their own goals, whereas Dean’s only goal was to do what made his family happy; it wasn’t even an obligation anymore, it was who he was. Dad and Sam were both content to exist in their own goal-driven spheres, and Dean was left alone to float around trying to connect the two. Dad and Sam would be fine on their own; Dean was lost.

            To top it off, there was something else Dean couldn’t help but feel: pride. Sammy was smart as hell and had worked incredibly hard and it had all paid off. Sam had grown into someone who was thoughtful and inquisitive and he would be _fine_ on his own. Dean took solace in that small fact. He looked at the faint white scar on his left hand that he acquired so many months ago. Sam had stitched it up for him. And now, Sam was gone, pulling the stitch in his heart along with him. Oh well. What was another scar on a ravaged body? Dean straightened up and wiped the moisture off his face and shook his head for a second and then composed himself enough to go back inside and comfort his dad.

* * *

 

_ 6 weeks later: Stanford University _

Sam Winchester awoke from the worst sleep he’d had in years. He sat up and grasped for the knife that was no longer under his pillow. It was still dark out, and Sam could hear his roommate Brady shuffling in his bed.

            “Sam?” Brady whispered into the darkness.

            “Yeah?”

            “You ok?” Brady asked.

            Sam sighed. It was an inevitable question. ‘ _Are you ok?’_ had become his Stanford mantra starting the day he had met Brady and unpacked his two bags. Brady had had four bags and two crates of stuff. Sam’s side of the room was empty, but Brady made sure to let his stuff spill over into Sam’s area. Sam was actually glad; the emptiness creeped him out. The first few days had been weird without having to wake Dean up or drink shitty 7-11 coffee. Plus, Sam wasn’t used to staying in places too long; he rationally knew it was okay to feel at home, but every instinct told him otherwise and he’d end up staring into space a lot of the time, hence Brady’s ‘ _Are you ok?’_

“I’m fine Brady, go back to sleep.” Sam lay down again, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

            “Sure. You’re totally fine,” Brady said rolling over to face Sam’s bed.

            “I’m indestructible,” Sam mumbled.

            “Sure. Y’know, chronic insomnia is a serious issue Sam, it c—“

            “You’re pre-med, Brady. You’re not a doctor yet,” Sam huffed.

            “Watch it buddy, or when I am a totally awesome doctor saving the world I’m not gonna loan you the money for your budding law firm.”

            “My bad, your highness,” Sam rolled his eyes in the darkness.

            “Seriously though, is Freddy Krueger haunting your dreams or something?” Brady asked trying to keep the tone light.

            “Or something,” Sam mumbled.

            “What?”

            “Nothing, just had a bad dream about an upcoming exam,” Sam lied.

            “Okay, well I’m gonna go back to bed and panic about midterms in the morning,” Brady said rolling over.

            “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Brady,” Sam whispered.

            “No problem, Sam.”

            Sam listened as Brady’s breathing evened out. Brady had been a pretty great friend. He was nice and thoughtful, but had a sarcastic fun-loving side. He was the mot well-balanced person Sam had ever met, and he was grateful to be his friend because Sam felt all sorts of fucked up.

            College itself was wonderful, including the people, boring seminars, and shitty dining hall food. It was everything he had wanted…but he still felt like he’d had a limb hacked off. Sam wondered if this was what it felt like when someone died.

            He’d gotten to California two weeks before orientation, so he camped out in a crappy motel a-la-Winchester using some of the cash he had saved up. For other days, though he used a stolen credit card. _One last time for old time’s sake,_ Sam thought to himself as he handed it over. Once he’d paid for his room he burned the card along with every fake ID he’d ever owned. Sam Winchester as going on the straight and narrow. No turning back now.

            Dean had given him close to $600 and it pained Sam to know Dean had given him his life’s savings, but there was nothing he could do about it other than use it. He bought sheets for his college room, a comforter, school supplies, and some new clothing. He saved just enough to purchase outrageously priced textbooks when the time came.

            Orientation itself was bizarre and felt phony. Everyone was trying to say hi and meet other people, and Sam met so many people he couldn’t remember their names. Brady had given him a funny look when Sam came alone and said his family was busy, but didn’t question it. The annoying icebreakers the RAs made them play in their dorms always consisted of ‘where are you from’ and ‘tell us something about yourself.’

            Sam had settled on safe answers. “I’m from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I’m ambidextrous.” He’d known how to shoot a gun with his left hand since he was 11, but nobody had to know that.

            Sam had placed a picture of his parents on his desk because that was what people did, right? They placed photos of their family near them? Looking at it was a little masochistic since it made him feel terrible, but that’s what people did, so he would do it too.

            Sam had talked to Dean once, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be happening again anytime soon. It had been a sunny afternoon and Sam had been working on a paper under the shade of a tree when his phone rang. _Dean._

            Sam picked up the phone and let it ring a few more times. _C’mon Winchester, are you that scared that you can’t pick up a damn phone?_ Sam finally answered. “Hey Dean.”

            _“Sam.”_

            Dean didn’t sound mad or sad…just apathetic. “So, uh, I got to California okay.”

            _“Good.”_

            Sam swallowed. This was the worst conversation he’d ever had with his brother, and that included when they had fought.

            “So…how are you?”

            _“Fine.”_

            One-word answers were killing Sam. “How’s…everybody else?”

            Dean gave a sarcastic laugh. “ _What are you allergic to saying his name?”_

“No,” Sam said indignantly. “I just—how’s dad?”

            “ _Fine. Everyone’s fine.”_

“That’s good.” Sam was running out of conversation topics with his brother and it hurt. It hurt because he could talk to Dean about anything…and now they were like strangers. “So, uh, you guys hunt anything good?”

            _“Why do you care?”_

            Dean’s aggressive voice cut through Sam like a razor. Did Dean seriously think Sam was a heartless bastard who didn’t care if they lived or died? “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You’re my brother.”

            _“Yeah, alright.”_

“Is there something you wanna say, Dean?” Sam asked angrily.

            _“Nothin’ to say, Sammy.”_

“It’s Sam.”

            _“Sure.”_

“Don’t go off being such a jerk, Dean. No one’s dying here and you’re being an asshole.”

            _“Okay_ college boy _,” Dean sneered._

“Fuck you.” Sam hung up the phone in a quiet rage, wanting to throw it as far away from him as possible.

Sam hadn’t heard from Dean since. Dean had called him a few times, but Sam didn’t want the last phone call to repeat itself, so he didn’t answer. He didn’t want his last memory of Dean to be _that_ one.

Sam rolled over in his bed and he could see the sun beginning to rise. Brady was right, chronic insomnia was a horrible thing. He wouldn’t tell him though, because his ego would become even more inflated. Sam pressed his face into his pillow and wished the guilt and sorrow and happiness would all stop melding together. Maybe someday things would be better between his family and him, but for now he’d just have to grieve their loss. Sam shut his eyes and willed himself to go to sleep.

* * *

 

_ 6 weeks later: Clinton, New York _

            Sam’s absence had hit everybody hard, but no one was taking it worse than Dean. John had been upset the first few nights, but had dealt with it in the classic Winchester fashion: with alcohol and violence. John had tried—he really had. He’d tried his best to protect his boys. Dean had grown into an excellent hunter and a good son. Sam had developed into a person of his own; too much of a stubborn nature within him. The anger John felt with Sam only resurfaced when he thought of calling him and telling him to come back. He always stopped short of dialing the number. However, on the whole what he felt most was loss and fear. What if Sam was unprepared for the world around him? Now, Sam had left and John knew there was nothing there could be done to get him back; nothing stopped Sam when he had made up his mind.

            John worried about Dean, though. And he could immediately help Dean since he was right there. It wasn’t that Dean was moping around or crying all the time, exactly the opposite, really. Dean didn’t say much of anything and seemed apathetic to everything. Hunting with Dean was perfect from a technical viewpoint, but John noticed Dean no longer took pleasure in the job. Even things like drinking, or picking up girls didn’t excite him. He just…went through the motions.

            John had one last-ditch attempt to get Dean to come out of his funk and he called him over from the motel door. “Dean, come out here. There’s something I wanna show you.”

            Dean obediently came outside and looked around to find his father standing near an old pickup truck. 

            “1986 GMC Sierra Grande,” John told him. “It’s spacious and perfect for hunting.”

            “I suppose,” Dean said confused.

“Look it even has this,” John moved to the back of the truck and popped open a modified weapons trunk.

“Nice,” Dean said appreciatively. “But, uh, are you gonna sell the Impala?”

“That’s where I was hoping you’d help me out,” John told him, walking over to the Chevy. “I can’t be in two places at once.”

“No…” Dean said slowly.

“So I was hoping you’d be willing to keep her.”

“What?” Dean asked dumbly.

“She’s yours if you want her,” John smiled. “Just take good care of her.”

Dean opened his mouth several times like a fish out of water. Finally he croaked out a “Thanks, dad.”

“Just be sure to do her justice,” John said. He ruffled Dean’s hair and Dean looked a little alarmed. John realized he hadn’t done something like that since Dean was 14.

“Of course, dad,” Dean smiled. It wasn’t a forced smile either, it was a genuine 100% Dean smile.

“Now, what do you say we look into a haunted farm?”

“You know me, dad,” Dean said his eyes twinkling. “I’m always down for kicking a little ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody I've got a couple things to say about this chapter, so bear with me. The first thing I have to say is that this was by far the hardest chapter to write. I didn't want to make the characters unrealistic, so I tried to keep them in character, hopefully I succeeded. I also feel the need to explain Dean's feelings about the topic; we know Dean feels angry and betrayed that Sam leaves, but I also think he feels hurt and takes it as a direct attack on himself. Dean's always watched out for Sam, and gave him the childhood he could never have. Sam is inherently spoiled by Dean, he just doesn't know it. So when he leaves for college thinking of his future, he neglects to think about how Dean threw away his own future for him. Hopefully the anger/sorrow/happiness rings true for Dean. Also, writing such a pivotal moment for the Winchesters was difficult because while we know the gist of what happens, none of it is ever shown, so it leaves a lot to the imagination. As for John's characterization, I tend to view him as a very flawed person whose good intentions end up backfiring or making him into an antagonist for Sam. I don't doubt he loves his kids, but I also think his parenting was in any way justified or acceptable. Anyway, please let me know what you think; any reviews and thoughts are appreciated! I only have 3 chapters to go!


	21. All That Glitters

**Chapter 21: All That Glitters**

_ Early December 2003. Wednesday. Stanford University _

            When a university gives offers someone a full-ride that means they’re including cost of room and board, books, and academic tuition. They don’t factor in the cost of extra food, toiletries, or mundane things like where to live when the school closes down for the winter and summer holidays. _Maybe I should’ve realized it was too good to be true,_ Sam Winchester thought savagely as he scrubbed a dirty pot. _Stop bitching, Winchester. Would you rather be sparring?_

            Sam wiped the sweat off his face with his arm and glanced up at the clock. _12:50 am._ Giving a silent ‘thank you’ Sam finished cleaning the remaining dishes and informed the manager he was headed home. It wasn’t that it was too late—in fact Sam stayed up until around 2 every morning reading—he was just tired to the bone. Between taking 5 classes and working two jobs, Sam was running a bit thin. He didn’t know how much longer he could last like this and still keep his grades up, but until he finally collapsed in the middle of a shift he wasn’t going to give up. Money had become a top all-consuming priority in Sam’s life.

            Sam chuckled darkly and pulled his Stanford hoodie over his head, as the cool December air nipped at his cheeks. Before he came to college, Sam was aware his family was poor. It wasn’t like hunting was a paid job. However, with enough credit card scams and wadded bills from hustling pool, the Winchesters managed to get by. Sam used to argue with his dad about using stolen credit cards and his dad would tell him not to have a moral stick up his ass. In college, Sam vowed to never again use the more illicit methods he had acquired over the years to make money. It was a completely fresh start. He’d get a job if he wanted spending money just like every other kid.

            Yeah, right. Winter break was coming up in 3 weeks and the Stanford dorms would be shut down for the next month and a half. Every other kid was excited to be done with the fall term and go home to see family and friends. Sam wasn’t every other kid. He had no family that would take him in, and therefore no place to go. He would need to find an apartment in the area that he could rent, as well as pay for all the amenities that came along with having an apartment. Not to mention food would be an ideal thing to have. Sam was pretty sure he could easily sneak back into the Stanford dorms after they’d shut down and live in his room, but wasn’t that also something he said he’d never do? So, the only logical thing left to do was get two shitty jobs and hope for the best.

            Sam heaved himself up the last few stairs in his dorm and unlocked the door to his room. As a sophomore, he had snagged a single, so he wasn’t worried about waking anybody up. Sam pulled off his sweatshirt and work pants and smiled to himself. It was the first room he hadn’t had to share with someone since…forever? Brady lived down the hall in another single, but he’d been acting really weird lately. Ever since Thanksgiving break, he’d stopped going to classes and was insistent on going out and getting trashed every night. Sam kept asking what was wrong and “suggested” he maybe stay and hang out and do homework, but his efforts were wasted. Sam pushed the worry aside, though. He’d only been weird for the past few weeks. He’d straighten out. He wanted to be a doctor for crying out loud. Sam pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt and fell into bed unceremoniously. The last thing he remembered was setting his alarm for 6 am to get to his job at the school coffee shop.

* * *

 

_ Early December 2003. Wednesday. Los Angeles _

            _It’s 80 freaking degrees and it’s December. I love Los Angeles,_ Dean decided as he buttoned up a cheap dress shirt. The crappy motel he was staying in was merely another resting place in a sea of thousands. They all blended together after a while. The only thing that made this motel any different were the people, or lack thereof. Dean sat on the King bed and began to pull on socks and shiny loafers. His dad had sent him all the way to sunny California to investigate a series of suspicious events that occurred at a historic park. Not really too different from what Dean had done all his life…but now there was one bed at the motel, not two. Dad had said he needed to look into something in Oklahoma, and that this hunt was small fry and Dean should be fine on his own.

            Dean didn’t know whether to feel honored or pissed. His dad giving him the Impala was supposed to be about hunting _together_ , not ditching him the moment he found something cool to go after. Still…his dad letting him go off on his own meant his dad clearly trusted him, and that was a good thing in Dean’s book.

            _Quit whining like a baby and do your damn job._ Sighing, Dean pulled on a suit jacket and climbed into the Impala, headed out for Griffith Park. There had been a death at the park that morning that Dean had overheard on his police radio. No use in sitting around the motel. Dean pulled out onto I-134 and headed towards Hollywood Way. It was a short ride that only took two Aerosmith songs.

            The first thing Dean noticed was the throng of policemen and caution tape adorning a picnic bench with a fallen tree next to it.

            “Showtime,” Dean murmured straightening his tie and tucking an authentic-looking FBI badge into his jacket pocket.

            Dean exited the Impala, and made sure to stand up a little straighter but maintained an aura of easiness and casualty at the crime scene. Half of what made a good con was believing in what you were trying to sell.

            “Sir, please stay back,” a young cop ordered holding out a hand to Dean.

            “I’d love to skippy, but I’m here with official business,” Dean held out his badge.

            “You’re FBI?” the cop asked in disbelief.

            “Yep,” Dean nodded. “I look awesome for my age, I know. Now are you going to let me in or am I going to have to call my supervisor?”

            The cop looked dubious for a second, but then stepped aside and let Dean enter the crime scene. _Like taking candy from a baby,_ Dean thought.

            The park bench the police were crowding was covered in blood. More than anyone could lose and still be alive. Dean grimaced. There was a girl who was sobbing in an ambulance off to the left of the cops with an orange blanket around her shoulders and two people trying to comfort her, who were presumably her parents. Her face was red and splotchy, and she sounded hysterical. Dean called over a cop from the bunch of them

            “Agent Tyler,” Dean said flashing his badge. “Do you mind running what happened by me?”

            “A Fed?” the burly cop with a nametag that read ‘Marshall’ asked. “Since when do feds come and investigate homicides on such short notice?”

            “Since you’ve had four deaths in the past month at this park,” Dean said sharply. “At the FBI we don’t take murder lightly.”

            “No—I—Of course not. The LAPD doesn’t either. Sir.” Marshall added.

            “Alright, then tell me what happened,” Dean ordered. This guy was eating out of the palm of his hand.

            “Well, this morning about two hours ago, shortly before sunrise Julie Stevens and Max Smith were by the picnic bench—uh—getting intimate.”

            Dean smirked. Marshall continued with a slight blush in his cheeks. “Anyway, in the midst of… _that,_ Max suddenly gets pulled off of the table and slammed into the ground. Someone cut him up pretty badly. Must’ve been two people pulling this off, because Julie’s also shaken up pretty badly and claims there was someone simultaneously attacking her,” The cop indicated towards the blood all over the table and surrounding areas. “Then it gets a little weird…”

            “Weird?” Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Weird how?”

            “Well…Max didn’t die from blood loss, although that would’ve happened eventually…he died from being crushed to death.”

            “How so?” Dean asked.

            “Well that’s the strange part, there was nothing nearby that could’ve crushed him with the weight. Forensics is only guessing this right now since we haven’t performed the full autopsy or anything…but it was as if he was crushed by a two-ton brick or something.”

            “Huh,” Dean muttered. “What about the tree next to the picnic table over there?” Dean pointed over to the fallen tree a few feet away.

            “Nah, it wasn’t the tree. That’s been there since ’76,” the cop told him.

            “And nobody’s thought of moving it?” Dean asked incredulously.

            “It’s a big tourist attraction,” Marshall said with a shrug.

            “The fallen tree draws in tourists?” Dean furrowed his brows.

            “Well it’s rumored to be haunted, y’know. Halloween of ’76 a couple was out here doing…stuff. The tree falls and crushes them both to death on the picnic table. Ever since then stupid kids say it’s haunted and whatnot, but it’s all hogwash if you ask me.”

            The gears in Dean’s mind were turning. “Right. Uh, what were the names of the people that died here?”

            “Rand Garrett and Nancy Jeanson,” Marshall said confused. “Why?”

            “Uh—local history buff,” he flashed a smile. “I like local legends. Anyway, I’m going to speak to Julie, but take my card. Call if anything comes up.”

            “Ok, will do,” Marshall pocketed the card. “But fair warning, Julie’s not making much sense.”

            “I’ll take my chances,” Dean nodded and made his way over to the girl in the ambulance.

            “Agent Tyler, FBI,” He pulled out his badge once more. The girl glanced at it, but didn’t seem to care much. “Can I ask you some questions about this morning?”

            The girl shook her head, tears dripping down her face. _Dammit. Sam was always better at dealing with the crying witnesses,_ Dean thought.

            “Please,” he said earnestly. “It’s important.”

            “Sweetie,” Julie’s mom said stroking her daughter’s hair. “The agent just wants to help.”

            Julie gave a small inconsequential nod, and her dad took that as a good sign. “We’ll give you some space,” he told Dean, pulling his wife away.

            A small whimper escaped the girl’s lips and Dean kneeled down in front of her so the height difference wouldn’t bother her. “How old are you, Julie?”

            “S-S-Seventeen,” she whispered and began to rock back and forth a little.

            “Okay,” Dean said. “I know this is difficult, but if we’re gonna catch whoever did this I need your help, ok?”

            Julie buried her head in her knees, still rocking back and forth clutching the orange blanket like it was a lifeline. “What do you need to know?”

            “Max,” Dean said gently. “He was your boyfriend?”

            A wail escaped Julie’s mouth and she nodded fervently.

            Dean hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really am.” And there was nothing else Dean could say because he _was_ truly sorry. He knew better than most what it was like to lose people you loved.

            “Can you tell me about the experience in your own words?”  
            Julie gave a mirthless laugh. “I already told the cops, but they think I’m in shock.”

            “Please, just tell me what happened.” Dean looked directly at her and noticed she would’ve been quite pretty if there had not been tears mingled with snot and dirt coating her face.

            “Max and I came down to celebrate our 1 year anniversary,” she said quietly. “Everything was going fine until I heard a whooshing noise…and I got really cold…”

            “Cold?” Dean asked.

            “Yes, but it’s December so it’s not that weird,” she sniffed.

            “Right, of course.” Dean didn’t point out that cold didn’t exist in Southern California. “Please, continue.”

            “So I get cold and we stopped kissing to look around, but the sun was barely rising so we didn’t see much…until…until Max was grabbed by someone.”

            “Did you see what this person looked like?” Dean asked.

            “Not well,” Julie sniffed again. “Looked like a guy. He grabbed Max and he pulled him off the bench. The guy just flashed in out of nowhere. I didn’t see him approach us…I couldn’t get up to help ‘cause it felt like my body was being held down or something. I guess I froze in fear.”

            Julie promptly started crying again and Dean waited until she composed herself.

            “Julie,” he said gently. “What do you mean you couldn’t move?”  
            Julie met his eyes for the first time that night and it was a look of pure horror and disbelief. She shook her head several times. “I –I told you I screwed up. I couldn’t even help myself, let alone my boyfriend.”

            “Julie,” Dean commanded strongly, forcing her to stop shaking and look at him. “What happened to you?”

            “I—“ her voice faltered. “I couldn’t move my body…and—and then…the scratching started.”

            “What?” Dean asked confused.

            Julie slowly untangled her arm from the blanket she was so desperately clutching to and held it out for Dean to look at. The words ‘Next time you die’ were etched into Julie’s forearm. The cuts weren’t very deep. Dean figured they wouldn’t have even bled all that much. It was a warning.

            “Who did this?” Dean asked disgusted. This ghost was gonna see the goddam light, no matter what he did.

            “I dunno. Some girl.” Julie hiccupped. “I didn’t get a good look at her, but…”

            Dean raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

            “She—she did that with her fingernails,” Julie mumbled. “Which shouldn’t have even been possible. But, I’m in shock…”

            “Right.” Deans studied her for a moment and handed her his card. “Call my number if anything else comes up.” He hesitated for a moment. “And—and what happened here was not your fault. Any of it.”

            Julie nodded, and was promptly surrounded by her parents. Dean gave them a curt nod and made his way back to the Impala, his head spinning. He was now going to have to do his least favorite thing in the hunting process.

            Research.

* * *

 

_ Early December 2003. Wednesday. Stanford University _

            A blaring noise was making Sam have the worst headache. _Probably drunken idiots,_ Sam thought. He pulled his blankets over his face in attempt to drown out the noise.

            “Shut up!” Sam hollered. God, why wouldn’t it stop?

            Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place and he sat up so fast, the world around him was spinning. Sam picked up his cellphone. _6:47 am._

            “Shit! Fuck!” Sam yelped scrambling to get off of his bed, and only succeeding in entangling himself in his blankets and falling on his face.

            “Ow,” Sam groaned as he pushed himself up off the floor. Sam’s unlocked door flew open and Brady was standing in the entrance.

            “Dude, are you ok? You’re screaming bloody murder.”

            “I’m late,” Sam said as he began changing into work clothes. “I’m nearly 20 minutes _late!_ ”

            “For what? Class?” Brady smirked. “Ditch it.”

            Sam paused long enough to glare at his friend, and continued getting dressed. “No for work, asshat.”

            “Oh, that.” Brady waved his hand in dismissal. “Who cares? You need to lighten up, Sam. You’re kinda neurotic lately, and not in the cool super-genius kinda way.”

            “Am not!” Sam said slightly hysterically grabbing his backpack.

            “Mhm,” Brady smiled. “You still on for that blind date Friday night?”

            Sam wore under his breath. Friday night was the only time he had free, and he didn’t really want to spend it being awkward and chaperoning Brady. Still, Brady was his friend and that’s what friends did right? “Yes, we’re still on. I’ve gotta run, and you’ve got class in 20. Get dressed.”

            Brady raised his hand in mock salute. “Sir, yes sir.”

            “Dick,” Sam shoved passed him as he ran out the door.

            “You love me,” Brady yelled after him.

            The coffee shop was only a 3-minute sprint, so Sam was only 29 minutes late for work. _Awesome._

“Megan,” Sam said breathlessly putting on an apron. “I’m so sorry.”

            His coworker looked at him annoyed. “You should be. I opened the store, prepped all the coffees, took orders, and made all the drinks. By myself.”

            “I know,” Sam said apologetically. “I’m really sorry. My alarm wasn’t going off and—“

            “Save it, Sam,” she rolled her eyes. “Just be thankful I’m an awesome friend who covered for your lazy ass.”

            “I’m eternally grateful,” Sam winked stepping up to the register.

            The coffee shop line was growing immensely larger, and Sam sighed to himself. It was going to be one of _those_ mornings where he desperately wished he could sleep. Instead he put on a bright and phony smile. “What can I get for you?”

            An hour and a half into his shift, Megan decided she was taking her break and nearly dared Sam to contradict her. He didn’t, but he wished she had taken it at a les busy time. The queue of drinks that were yet to be made were growing longer and the customer line wasn’t getting any shorter. Sam had to stop taking orders and making a few drinks, then going back to taking orders. Needless to say, the customers were more than a little annoyed when their half-caf vanilla lattes were taking longer than 10 minutes to make.

            “Can I get a Hazelnut Latte with soy milk and only one shot of espresso with extra foam?” a girl asked.

            _No. You’re ordering plain coffee and calling it a damn day._ “Sure,” Sam smiled a little too wide. “Technically a latte with extra foam is a cappuccino, though. It would actually be 5 cents cheaper if you ordered it as a cappuccino.”

            The girl stared at him blankly. “But I don’t want a cappuccino. I want a latte with extra foam.”

            _Are you freaking kidding me?_ “Right,” Sam tried again. “But, the drink you ordered is similar enough to a cappuccino and it’d be cheaper if I took down the order like that.”

            “But I want—“ the girl started to say, just as the steaming pitcher from behind Sam started to scream.

            “Dammit,” Sam swore. “One sec.” He rushed over to stop the tide of hot milk from spilling all over the floor and himself. Too late. Warm milk dribbled over onto Sam’s Chucks, soaking his socks in the process. “Son of a bitch!”

            From behind him, Cappuccino-Latte girl was getting annoyed and off to the side Sam could hear someone repeatedly saying ‘Excuse me?’

            Sam swung towards the voice angrily and barked “What?”

            A blonde girl with curly hair was standing at the bar looking slightly taken aback. “I was wondering if you had more honey. The bottle by the tables is out.”

            “I don’t know,” Sam said curtly, trying to maintain politeness. “I’ll check, but there’s no guarantee it’ll be within the next 15 minutes, so wait. Please.”

            The blonde smirked. “Okay then grumpy. Call in sick next time if you feel so tired.”

            “I’m not ti—“ Sam tried to argue angrily.

            He was interrupted by the return of Megan. “Jesus, Sam. I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and it’s anarchy in here.”

            “No, it’s all under control,” the smiling blonde said. “You have excellent customer service.”

            She winked at Sam and walked away with two other giggling friends. Sam stared at her wide-mouthed. She had some nerve. She had no idea, _no idea_ how utterly _exhausting_ his life was. Freaking pretentious…

            “Earth to Sam,” Megan snapped.

            “What?” Sam asked slightly dazed.

            “I said, I’ll take register, you make drinks. It kinda looks like you might kill the next person who orders a latte.”

            _Oh, you have no idea._ “You’re the best Megan.”

            “I know.”

* * *

 

_ Early December 2003 Wednesday-Thursday. Los Angeles _

            All in all, it was fairly easy research, for which Dean was eternally grateful. It wasn’t too hard to find all the info he needed on Rand and Nancy. They were sweethearts, as the cop had said, who died an untimely death on Halloween. Apparently, the rumors that the 4,000-acre park was haunted were encouraged by the city in hopes of attracting tourists. They’d even brought in ‘paranormal specialists.’ _Freaking amateurs._

            Rand and Nancy were buried together in the local LA cemetery. This hunt _was_ small fry. What Dean didn’t understand was why the ghosts were acting out now. In freaking December. Oh well. It didn’t really matter to Dean as long he got to torch some bodies. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could meet up with dad again.

            The drive to the cemetery wasn’t all that much further than the park (it took 3 Metallica songs), and Dean arrived around 1 am. It wasn’t difficult work, but digging graves solo was annoying and wouldn’t bode to well with the cops. Dean pulled out the necessary supplies (including salt rounds, iron crowbar, shovel, and lighter fluid) and began to scout the park for where the loving-turned-murderous couple was buried.

            It didn’t take long to find the gravesite; the newer graves were pretty clean and easy to spot. “This’ll be fun,” Dean murmured to himself. The silence bothered him. Even when he had hunted with his dad and they were quiet, it wasn’t ever so…lonely. Hunting alone was macabre and made every shadow seem a little bigger, every movement a little jerkier, every sound a little louder. Dean hated it.

            He began shoveling as if his life depended on it. Hell, it might. Anything to get out of this morose looking cemetery. With not a soul around, Dean felt incredibly naked. Dean could deal with cuts and bruises and being beaten to a pulp. He couldn’t stand feeling vulnerable. _Stop it. Don’t think like that._ Dean pushed the heavy shovel into the ground with a renewed vigor, and a short while later he hit something solid.

            “Yahtzee,” Dean mumbled to himself. He struck the coffin hard with the sharp end of the shovel, and the rotted wood splintered away. Dean took a step back in disgust; Rand was rotting and decayed and the smell made Dean want to gag.

            “Ugh,” Dean’s eyes watered as he liberally poured salt and lighter fluid onto Rand’s body. He hopped out of the hole and lit the motel matchbook on fire. “Hasta la vista, Rand.”

            Shortly after, Dean began digging at Nancy’s grave. There were no complications until Dean struck the coffin. That was when he felt a cold chill run up his spine. He spun around in time to see Nancy fling him to the other side of the hole where he landed on his wrist. Dean didn’t even have time to inspect the damages before he was hoisted up by Nancy and thrown out of the hole. He fell unceremoniously flat on his back. Nancy reached a cold hand out and wrapped it around his throat.

            Dean felt his airway closing and instinctively put one hand up to stop the crushing of his throat, and used the other to reach into his pocket to grab spare salt. Looking up, Dean saw Nancy’s face properly for the first time. She was…crying? Ghostly tears appeared to be slipping down her nose as she continued to try and kill the middle Winchester.

            Uncapping the salt jar, Dean flung it into the specter as hard as he could and she vanished. Wasting no time at all Dean poured his remaining salt and lighter fluid all over Nancy’s corpse and lit the bone with his Zippo. Dean caught the spirit go up in flames out of the corner of his eye. _Good riddance._

            Back at the motel room Dean had time to fully inspect his wrist; it was swollen and bruised, which led to limited mobility, but it didn’t appear to be broken. He gingerly wrapped his hurt wrist and placed a bag full of motel ice chips on it and hoped that would be enough. His back was also sporting various bruises from where he had fallen and a few nasty scrapes. Dean tried to clean them as best he could, but he knew it wasn’t a perfect solution. Deciding to quit for the night, Dean dragged himself to bed and carefully lay down on his stomach, attempting to avoid jostling his abused back. Dean remembered the look on Nancy’s face. She was _crying._ What kinda ghost cries as they strangle you? It was strange, sure, but she was gone and that was all that mattered. Now he could get back to dad and leave this empty motel room behind. Dean let his eyes close and was out in seconds.

            In what seemed like minutes, Dean was awoken to the familiar rift of “Smoke on the Water.”         

            Dean glanced at the display: _unknown caller._ With a voice thick with sleep, he answered. “Hullo?”

            “Agent Tyler?” a familiar voice asked over the phone.

            Dean sat up and cleared his throat. “Yes, this is Tyler, may I ask who’s calling?”

            “ _It’s Marshall, the police officer from the other day.”_

            “Right, Marshall,” Dean rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was close to noon, meaning that he’d been out for at least 8 hours. That was incredibly rare for a hunter. “What’s going on?”

            “ _Well you told me to call you if anything came up, and something came up.”_

            “What happened?” Dean asked.

            _“Earlier this morning there was another death—an accident. 2 girls were spending time near the Hollywood sign above the cliffs of the LA mountains. One got a little too close, and fell.”_

“Accident?” Dean asked confused. “Why are you calling an FBI agent about an accident?”  
            _“Well… the story gets dodgy. One of the girls—Vanessa Myers—is claiming that it_ wasn’t _an accident.”_

“Not an accident?” Dean’s mouth had gone dry. “How so?”

            _“I don’t know. Vanessa was pretty shaken up, and not making of whole lot of sense.”_

“Marshall, do you have an address I could visit to question the witnesses?” Dean asked urgently.

            _“Yeah, sure. Do you have a pen?”_

Dean picked up the crappy motel pen and paper. “Mhm.”

            An hour later Dean was standing in front of a medium-sized beige house. It was in the middle of the suburbs (or suburgatory, as Dean liked to joke in his head). Every house on the block was the same vanilla-looking duplex with an attached two-car garage and a small square of green grass. It was actually kinda creepy, because Dean couldn’t tell which house was which.

            He rapped on the door sharply with his good hand and waited for the door to open.

            A nervous looking twenty-something opened the door. “Yes?”

            “Agent Tyler, FBI,” Dean flashed his badge and a classic Winchester smile. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the incident that took place earlier today.”

            The girl squinted at the badge, and then reluctantly swung the door open so that Dean could step through.

            “I’m sorry my house is a mess,” the girl rambled as Deans stepped into the tidiest house he’d ever been in. “Please, take a seat.” She gestured towards the couch in front of a glass coffee table.

            “No, it’s not a problem,” Dean said sitting down. “Your name is Vanessa, right?”

The girl nodded and Dean continued. “Now, Vanessa, about earlier today…can you please tell me exactly what happened in your own words?”

“Joanie and I were hiking buddies. We’d go to cool places in LA every week…we thought seeing sunrise over the Hollywood sign would be fun.” Her voice was timid and quiet. “We got to the top and we decided to look more closely at the edge where the letters were to take a stupid picture so we could show people where we went…”

            Dean nodded encouragingly, and Vanessa continued.  “Both of use were looking over the edge when all of the sudden Joanie screamed and fell.” Vanessa had tears in her eyes and was shivering slightly, but continued speaking. “By the time I called 911 Joanie—Joanie was dead.”

            Dean looked at Vanessa thoughtfully. “And you didn’t see anything?”

            Vanessa fervently shook her head. “No.”

            “Really?” Dean tried to emulate his dad’s authoritative tone. “Are you sure about that, Vanessa?”

            Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut. “Well I thought…”

Dean leaned in. “You thought what?”

Vanessa bit her lip and looked away. “I thought…someone pushed Joanie.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Did you see the person who pushed your friend?”

Vanessa shook her head. “I know. I know how it sounds…but… the person who did it just ran really fast or something…”

            Dean resisted the urge to shake her. “Did you feel any chills or cold spots?”

            Vanessa blinked rapidly and opened her mouth before thinking and closing it again. “What does that have to do wi—“

            “Just answer the question, please.”

            “It is December,” she pointed out defensively.

            “It’s 80 degrees,” he retorted. “So did you feel them?”

            “Yes,” she said softly. “How’d you know?”

            “I’ve been an agent for a long time,” Dean smiled. “Now, off the record…what do you _think_ you saw?”

            “I—I think… I mean I was imagining it, of course…but I think I saw a girl…in an old-timey dress… push Joanie off the edge and then…vanish,” Vanessa looked at him like she was expecting him to laugh at her.

            Dean just nodded. “Okay. Thank you for your time, Vanessa. I’ll be in touch.”

            Vanessa nodded and laughed as she walked Dean to the door. “Guess I’m in shock or something. I mean… there are no such things as ghosts.” Her tone was begging Dean to validate her assessment of herself.

            Dean just gave her a small smile. “Of course not. Ghosts aren’t real.”

            Walking back to the Impala, Dean struggled to put together what was happening. _Two different cases with different unrelated ghosts? What the hell?_

            Whatever was going on, it wasn’t over. Dean rubbed his eyes. He was in for a hell of a lot of research.

* * *

 

_ December 2003. Thursday. Stanford University _

            Sam dragged his heavy backpack complete with laptop, calculus textbook, 3 different colored pens so he could color-code notes, 2 spiral notebooks, and a large American politics textbook into a medium-size lecture hall. He took a seat in the middle, which allowed him to remain perfectly inconspicuous, yet still have optimal viewing of the board. Calculus was Sam’s most difficult class, but it was usually bearable. However, when combined with only 4 hours of sleep, work, and dealing with annoying customers all morning, it was practically like sitting through an hour and a half of torture.

            Sam was early, as always and looked around warily for his best friend. Brady and him both needed calculus as a GE, and they had figured they’d suffer in solidarity. Much to Sam’s chagrin, Brady hadn’t been to class in two weeks. Typical.

            The professor walked into the lecture hall and promptly opened a textbook and began to write what seemed to Sam like various scribbles. Sam opened his notebook and began jotting down the nonsense, in the hopes that when he was more awake it would make more sense.

Brady slid into the seat right next to him and smirked.

            Sam rolled his eyes. “Decided to come to class after all?”

            “Ah, you know me,” Brady said noisily stretching his arms up into the air. “Got bored of being bored.”

            “Shhh,” Sam said looking around quickly. “Professor Hill’s already lecturing.”

            “No biggie,” Brady said loudly leaning back. “I’m good at math.”

            “That’s not the point,” Sam whispered harshly. “You’re going to get us kicked out!”

            “Alright, alright,” Brady smiled. “Can I have a piece of paper…and a pen?”

            “Are you going to steal my pen?”

            “That was totally my intention.”

            Sam smiled wanly. “Don’t chew on it. I need this pen back.”

            “Oh yeah,” Brady said grabbing the pen. “You’re OCD about note-taking.”

            “I’m responsible,” Sam insisted.

            “That’s a euphemism for ‘loser,’” Brady winked.

            “Don’t use up all your vocabulary in one sentence,” Sam whispered mildly.

            “I could out-test your neurotic little ass any day,” Brady said putting his head back against his seat. “You’re taking notes, right?”

            “Of course I—“ Sam glared. “You wanna copy them don’t you?”

            “Now you get the memo. You’re the greatest Sam.”

            Sam threw Brady an annoyed look before returning to his notebook and frantically copying down L’Hospital’s Rule. _So it’s a rule using derivatives to help evaluate limits without involving indeterminate forms…what the fuck did I just write down?_ Sam stared at his notebook, willing the knowledge to seep into his brain through diffusion. _Focus. You’re not focusing well enough._

Sam wished his brain would shut up. _Shut up, brain. This isn’t helping._ Sam’s brain wasn’t keen on cooperating, though and instead began to think of money. _So a shitty apartment in the Bay Area is roughly $1070. Fuck. That’s expensive. Still—it’s good someone would rent to a student. I could try and room with someone…but nobody from school will be in the area spending Christmas in a dingy shithole. That would be a nice conversation. ‘Hey it’s Sam from school, I know you probably have plans, but if you don’t, spend Christmas vacation here in the area in an apartment that probably wouldn’t pass a health inspection. It’ll be fun, and on Christmas I might even splurge and buy McDonald’s or something.’_

Sam created two columns in the margin of his math notebook. One was ‘Money I need to survive’ and the other was ‘Money I’d like to have so I could ideally not be miserable.’

            Sam jotted some things he needed for survival as well as the cost:

  1. _Apartment $1070_
  2. _Food (assuming it’s Ramen and Macaroni) $100_
  3. _Electricity $75_
  4. _Water $30-50 (???)_
  5. _Gas $30-50 (???)_
  6. _Cell phone bill $55_



That left Sam with a whopping total of $1400. He’d had roughly $1200 saved up. Break was in 3 weeks. Theoretically he’d have enough by then…but there would be no WiFi, television, recreational expenses, or (what bothered Sam the most) savings. Not to mention, that this was only for a month and a half. What was he supposed to do during the summer months when this bill would be tripled? The ‘Money I’d like to have so I could ideally not be miserable’ column was all but forgotten.

            Brady chose that moment to begin to snore lightly and Sam interrupted his self-pity to jab Brady in the ribs. Hard.

            “Ow!” Brady yelped rubbing his side.

            “Shh!” Sam looked around again. “You’re freaking snoring.”

            “Yeah, math’s not my thing.”

            “Brady, you were a mathlete in high school,” Sam pointed out. “Seriously, man. You ok?”

            Brady rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Look, I’m gonna go get some rest. Do you mind giving me your notes later?”  
            “But—“

            “Please,” Brady pleaded.

            “I—fine,” Sam said softly. “Tell me what’s going on later though?”

            “Course,” Brady said standing up. “You’re a great friend Sam.”

            “I know.” Sam watched him quietly exit the auditorium. Picking up his pen, Sam continued to write notes without much gusto. Brady was starting to seriously freak him out. It just wasn’t _normal_ to randomly decide to go on a never-ending bender when you were previously a straight-laced student. Maybe there was something wrong at home? Sam didn’t know how to breach the topic, but decided he should try and find a way before things got worse.

            Professor Hill had finished lecturing and Sam hadn’t even noticed. “Crap,” Sam mumbled gathering all his things. He had to rush to get to the local diner for the evening shift.

            Sam tore down the auditorium aisle, his long legs having barely any room to move.

            “Ouch!” a voice from behind Sam squeaked. “Watch where you’re going!”

            Sam turned around a fraction to apologize. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry.”

            “Typical,” the voice said angrily.

            Sam turned around further to face her. “Look, I said I was sorry, and I am, but I’m really in a rush so—“

            “You’re that cranky guy from the coffee shop.”

            Sam looked at the girl in front of him closely and realized it was the curly-haired blonde who’d been flanked by giggling friends earlier that morning.

            “I—“ Sam started.

            “No, I get it, you’re busy,” the blonde stood up, with a green backpack slung over her left shoulder. “But as a public service, I’m going to beg you to take a nice long nap.”

            Sam crinkled his eyebrows and opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, but changed his mind. “Noted.”

            “Good.” She gave him a saccharine smile that was not iota genuine. “See you later.”

            Then she had the nerve to brush past _him_ in the cramped aisle and walk away as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

            Sam waited until he could no longer see the blonde girl walking away confidently and continued making his way through the aisle. When he was finally out of the building and on his way to the diner, Sam swore under his breath.

            Brady had stolen his pen.

* * *

 

_ December 2003. Thursday. Los Angeles _

            Dean sat at the little motel table, leg angrily boundcing up and down hitting the top of the desk. According to the research he’d conducted there _was_ a suicide by the Hollywood sign. In 1932.

            Peg Entwistle was an aspiring actress who’d been in at least a dozen successful Broadway plays. She had travelled to LA to begin her burgeoning film career. Dean didn’t know why she did it, whether it was the stress of the business or the economy or something else entirely, but on September 18, 1932 she jumped off the ledge of the cliff in front of the Holly wood sign. It was an incredibly sensationalized death, seeing as she was a rising starlet, and she was cremated and sent to Ohio to be buried next to her dead father’s ashes.

            Dean banged his fist into the table. It didn’t make any sense. None of her possessions were left at the park, and she had been cremated so why the hell was she still here? Furthermore, why was she choosing to appear just now? If she’d wanted to hurt people, she’d had decades. Talk about Christmas cheer. This was supposed to be an _easy_ hunt. Dean snorted. Easy wasn’t really the Winchester way.

            Dean flipped open his phone, tempted to call his dad. He’d know what to do…but he’d also be disappointed he couldn’t handle it. _I can deal with it,_ Dean thought to himself. _Dad doesn’t need to think I’m some screw-up who can’t handle a simple salt and burn._

            Instead, Dean scrolled past his dad’s number and called someone who wouldn’t be annoyed at having to help.

            _“Hello?”_

            “Hey there, Pastor Jim. Long time no talk.”

            _“Dean Winchester, is that you?”_ Dean could practically see the pastor’s toothy smile. The Jim’s tone turned harsh. “ _Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you in 3 months!”_

“Ah, you know. It’s been busy,” Dean said placating. “Dad and I have been busy working nonstop pretty much.”

            _“Is your dad there? I’d like to inform him how easy it is to make a phone call.”_

“Actually, he’s not here,” Dean said nervously. “I’m working this job in California.”

            _“Alone?”_ Pastor Jim’s voice was sharp. _“Where’s your dad?”_

“I _can_ handle myself, you know.” Dean was mildly offended. “I turn 24 in like a month!”

            _“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”_ Jim said simply. _“And your father?”_

“Dad said he needed to look into something in Oklahoma. Guess he thought we could cover more ground this way, or something.” Dean didn’t expand because there was nothing he could offer; his dad didn’t tell him jack, and he’d never had the guts to ask. _Point to you, Sammy_ , he thought bitterly.

            As if reading his mind, Jim asked. “ _How’s your brother?”_

“Dunno,” Dean said automatically in a clipped voice. The moment anyone mentioned Sam a wall would go up, and there was no breaking it. Not after a lifetime of practice. Dean was practically indestructible. Practically.

            _“Just thought you might’ve talked to him by now,”_ Jim said warily.

            “Sam’s busy,” Dean told him.

            That was the end of that. Jim sighed. _“What’s going on, Dean? I’m assuming this isn’t a social call.”_

“Sorry, padre, wish it was,” Dean said reining his thoughts back. “I need your help with some research.”

            _“What do you need?”_

“Well, I was working a case up in LA. There had been four deaths all in this one huge 4,000-acre park within the last month. All of them different ways of dying. Dad thought vengeful spirit, so I did some digging around and figured he was probably right…then death number 6 happened. Two teenagers were getting to know each other _biblically—“_

“ _Dean,”_ Jim warned.

            Dean smiled to himself and continued. “Anyway, while that was happening the boy gets clawed up horribly and is crushed to death by an invisible rock or something. Girl lives and has an ominous threat carved into her arm. I did some research—there was a couple that was crushed to death by where the teens were having their fun. I did the routine salt and burn and it should’ve been over.”

            “ _Right,”_ Jim said following, “ _But I take it something went wrong?”_

            “No, that’s just it,” Dean sighed. “Everything went perfectly. Ghosts are gone. However, the next day I get reports of a girl falling off the cliff where the Hollywood sign is. Her friend who survived said she imagined a ghost. Sure enough, I go to look it up and there was the suicide of an actress in the 30s. The actress was cremated and has no ties to this park, so I have no freaking idea what to do. All I know, is that there’s probably going to be more deaths unless I can figure out what’s going on.”

            _“And all this is happening at the same park?”_ Jim asked.

“Yes! I don’t know why, though,” Dean said frustrated. “Is it really just a coincidence that completely unrelated ghosts all started icing people now?”

            _“I think we both know that’s a little too much to hope for, Dean.”_

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. There’s something else that’s a little weird…”

            _“What do you mean weird?”_

“I could’ve sworn one of the ghosts was crying as she tried to gank me. Like she looked _sad_ she was killing me…”

            _“Almost as if she were compelled to do it?”_

“I guess so,” Dean replied. “Hell if I know. That’s why I need your help.”

            _“Unfortunately, you require quite a bit of research, and I’m actually on a hunt of my own.”_

“Oh.” Dean was dumbstruck. It wasn’t often that he asked for help, and this felt like a slap in the face. “Of course, I unders—“

            _“What you need,”_ Jim said cutting him off, “ _is a better researcher. I’m outside New York trying to hunt down a wraith that’s been feeding on infants. I won’t be able to get the information you need before the wraith kills again.”_

“Ugh,” Dean was appalled. Hurting people in general was bad, but kids? He hoped there was a special place in monster hell for monsters who ate kids. “No, go stop the son of a bitch. I’ll manage.”

            _“Language,”_ the pastor said mildly. _“I am going to call a guy I know. He’s excellent at research. You should have everything you need in a few days, maybe less.”_

“What guy? Is he a hunter we know of?” Dean asked. “I can call him, it’s no biggie.”

            _“You don’t know him. And no, he’s no hunter…he’s more of a monster scholar, really.”_ Jim sounded slightly off, but he continued. _“And he’s pretty reclusive. Doesn’t like people.”_

“Huh,” Dean said. “Like the guy who wrote _Catcher in the Rye_?”

            _“Uh—yes, actually. Just like that.”_ Jim sounded surprised.

            “I read. Occasionally.” Dean told him. Truth was, Dean loved _Catcher in the Rye_ , but nobody would really talk to him about it other than _Sam._ And there was no way in hell that was happening anytime soon. Besides he had a reputation to uphold. “Alright, well tell your pal to make it quick before anyone else dies.”

            _“I’ll try my best,”_ Jim agreed.

            “Good,” Dean smiled a little. “Now quit talking to me and go get the bastard who’s munching on baby brains.”

            _“Language, Dean!”_

* * *

 

_ December 2003. Thursday. Stanford University _

            Sam arrived back in his dorm at 10 pm, dreading doing his calculus homework. He’d been a less-than-stellar student today and now he was going to suffer. If there was anything worse than having a professor teach something complicated, it was trying to teach yourself with the help of Professor Google. The youngest Winchester pulled out his calculus notes and began reviewing them. Half the page was just financial scribbling.  Great.

            A sharp rap at the door interrupted Sam before he had time to fully get started. “Come in,” he called lazily.

            Brady entered the room with two cups of coffees and his backpack. “Hey, can I join you in doing the calc homework?”

            Sam looked up in surprise. “You want to do homework?”

            “Sure.” Brady held out one of the cups of coffee as a peace offering. “Latte?”

            Sam took the latte gratefully. “Thanks, man.”

            “No problem,” Brady smiled pulling up a chair on the other side of Sam’s desk. “So how’s the homework looking?”

            “Dismal. I wasn’t able to really follow along.” Sam showed him his scribbled notes with a slight feeling of embarrassment; they were hardly fit to be called third grader’s notes, let alone a sophomore college student’s.

            “Ah, l’Hopital’s rule,” Brady said scanning the page quickly. “It’s pretty easy once you understand it.” He ignored the frantic columns about money Sam had made all over the margins, and Sam was thankful. Brady pulled out a notebook from his backpack. “Look,” he grabbed a pen and began writing, “all you have to do is this.”

            He demonstrated the concept as if it were as easy as writing your name. “Whoa,” Sam murmured. “Show me one more time, I think I get it.”

            “Sure,” Brady grinned. “Like this.”

            Sam had his calculus assignment that should’ve taken him two hours completed within 30 minutes with Brady’s help. Brady was much better at math and science, but Sam had always been a more analytical mind. It was a nice balance.

            “Dude, you could take over for Professor Hill,” Sam said impressed.

            “Don’t sound so surprised,” Brady said stuffing his homework into his backpack. “I _was_ the school’s math club president.”

            “I’m not surprised!” Sam defended himself. “I know you’re a math wiz…it’s just that lately…”

            “Oh c’mon you’re not staging an intervention are you?” Brady groaned.

            “No. I just wanna know what’s going on.” Sam looked at Brady with the look that usually got girl’s to smile and old people to pinch his cheeks. “Ever since Thanksgiving you’ve just seemed…different.”

            “Well,” said Brady thoughtfully. “I am different. Brady 2.0.”

            “Anything happen to cause the latest upgrade?” Sam asked trying to keep the mood light.

            “I just realized I’m bored,” Brady shrugged.

            “Just before Thanksgiving you talked about how you were excited for that medical internship in Ecuador next summer,” Sam pointed out.

            “Cancelled it,” Brady said nonchalantly as he stretched and leaned back in his chair in that dangerous way that people always say not to. “Not interested anymore”

            Sam opened his mouth thunderstruck. “But you worked really hard for that! You want to be a doctor and it would look awesome when you apply to med school!”

            “Don’t wanna be a doctor anymore, I don’t really care.” Brady smirked. “I wanna live while I’m still young.”

            “But—but you said—“ Sam spluttered. “Look, I’m all for living while you’re young, but you also have to consider the future!”

            “Ehh, not really my style.”

            “Did…did something happen over the break at home?” Sam asked worried.

            “Noooo,” Brady said dragging the word out like a small child who was getting sick of talking. “I’m just not interested.”

            “Brady, I’m your friend,” Sam said earnestly. “I just want what’s best for you, and I’m not real sure saying fuck it to everything you’ve wanted since you were 12 is a good idea.”

            Brady sighed and stopped leaning back in his chair. “Look, Sam, I get that you’re trying to help, and that’s great, but please stop. I just need some time to figure things out. Okay?”

            Sam wanted to argue and tell him that no he would most certainly not back off thank you very much, but he swallowed it. “Yeah, sure. I understand. Just…please don’t do anything to get kicked outta school.”

            “I won’t flunk, I’m a genius,” Brady winked. “What about you?”

            “What about me?” Sam asked.

            “What has you acting like the human calculator?”

            So he had picked up on that. “Nothing,” Sam assured him. “I’m jut saving up for some stuff.”

            “Really?” Brady raised an eyebrow. “Because it looks like you’re saving up for an apartment.”  
            “What? Nah,” Sam said obtusely.

            “If you need money I could loan y—“

            “Don’t worry about it,” Sam cut him off. “I’m renting a place in San Francisco for the winter with a few friends and I was just workin’ out some expenses. No biggie.”

            Brady wrinkled his face in concern. “What friends? Sam if you need a place to stay my door is always open.”

            “Thanks,” Sam smiled, “but I’ve got it all worked out. They’re old friends from high school.”

            “Okay…” Brady said not quite believing his terrible lie. “But if you ever need anything, lemme know.”

            “Thanks, Brady,” Sam said glad that his friend had dropped the conversation.

            “No worries. Excited for tomorrow night?”

            “What’s Tomorrow?” Sam asked confused.

            “The blind date you’re going on,” Brady told him as if it was obvious. “You’re gonna love the girl. She’s smart and sweet and pretty hot.”

            _Shit. Stupid blind freaking date._ “Oh the—the blind date yeah that’s awesome…” Sam’s voice trailed off.

            “Don’t sound so excited. You need a night to just take it easy.” Brady rolled his eyes. “What are you allergic to fun or something?”

            “Nah, you’re probably right,” Sam cracked his neck loudly. “Where are we going, anyway?”

            “The old drive-in theatre. I think they’re playing _It._ The girl’s will be practically sitting on your lap,” Brady said with a satisfied smile.

            _Oh fuck no. There is no way in hell I am going to fucking_ It. _I’ll end up running out the damn car and covering my ears. That’s super attractive._

            “You ok? You look a little sick…” Brady said catching Sam’s face.

            “What? I’m fine,” Sam said weakly.

            “Uh-huh…well I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow night, Sam.”

            “Night,” Sam waved.

            Just his luck, there was no way this blind date was going to go well. The girl was going to laugh her ass off at him.

            Sam yawned and pulled on sweats. He was about to crawl into bed when his phone started to ring. Who the hell would call him at 11:30 at night?

            “Hello?” Sam answered.

            _“Sam, it’s me, Jim Murphy.”_

“Pastor Jim?” Sam asked shocked. “What’s going on?” Sam began to fill with dread. There was only one reason Pastor Jim would call. This was _the call._ The one where he was informed he was an orphan and brother-less. Sam’s voice tightened. “Pastor Jim, are they hurt?”

            _“No, Sam, everyone’s okay.”_ Sam didn’t even care what he’d called for. He was filled with such strong relief that it made him want to giggle. _“However, I need to ask a huge favor of you.”_

“Oh?” Sam asked noncommittally. “What kind of favor?”

            Pastor Jim sounded reluctant to speak. _“I need you to research something for me?”_

Sam stiffened. No. No way. He was done with that. Forever. “Umm, Pastor Jim, I don’t really—“      

            _“I know you don’t hunt anymore. Truth be told I’m glad one Winchester had some common sense.”_ Jim chuckled, and it brought a small smile to Sam’s lips. It was a sound he remembered well, but couldn’t quite place—close by, but barely out of reach. Like when you’re underwater and you can hear sounds, but they’re all muffled and distorted, or when you open your eyes and the world looks blurry. It reminded him of a blurry underwater version of Dean getting yelled at for swearing or his dad cleaning guns at the kitchen table. It suddenly made Sam feel very lonely.

Jim continued without realizing Sam’s sorrow; the Winchester’s weren’t a blurry portrait to him. _“I swear I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t have to, but all my other contacts are busy, and I’m working a job myself.”_

“I don’t know…” Sam bit his lip.

            _“I understand if you really don’t want to, but it would make a huge difference,”_ the pastor pleaded.

            Damn Jim and his guilt trips. “Do I know the person who’s working the job? Want me to call and give them info?”

            Jim laughed, and Sam didn’t understand. “What’s so funny?”

            _“Nothing, nothing. This hunter’s a recluse, doesn’t really like his name being given out.”_

“Like JD Salinger status?”

            Another weary laugh came from Jim as if he was sharing some private joke with himself. _“Yes, exactly like Salinger.”_

“What do you need me to research?” Sam asked opening his laptop. “I’ll email you all the info I find.”

            Pastor Jim recounted everything Dean had told him to Sam, and waited since he knew Sam would be jotting notes down. Some things never changed.

            “So the ghost cried when she tried to kill your hunter friend?” Sam asked incredulously. “What the hell?”

            _“That’s precisely why I need you to help me. When do you think you can work on this?”_

“I’ve already started,” Sam told him looking through the LA Park archives. “Might as well do this so I can be done, you know?”

            _“Of course,”_ Pastor Jim responded.

            Before Jim hung up, Sam needed to ask something. “Pastor Jim…how are they?”

            _“They’re doing alright from what I know. Your family is up in Oklahoma.”_ A partial truth would have to do for now. He paused for a moment. _“I know Dean misses you something fierce.”_

Sam gave a hollow laugh. He sincerely doubted Dean ever wanted to talk to him again. Missed him? Probably closer to hated him. And maybe he deserved it. He was the one who’d walked away. “I’m sure Dean’s doing alright without me being a pain in the ass.”

            _“I’m serious, Sam.”_

“Right.” Sam didn’t know what to say. “Just…if anything ever happens…”

            _“You’ll be my first call, Sam.”_

“Thanks,” Sam whispered quietly. “I just never know if the next call I get’s gonna be _the one,_ y’know? I can’t—they’ll just—and I never would’ve gotten the chance to see them again.”

            _“Your family still cares for you, Sam. Even if they don’t know how to tell you.”_ Jim sighed. Sam was a good kid, and sometimes John could be so damn stubborn. _“I’ll look out for ‘em. Promise.”_

Sam swallowed, trying to stop the lump in his throat from getting any larger. He hadn’t thought about his family in months. Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much…and thinking of them hurt in ways Sam couldn’t begin to understand. “Thanks,” Sam said finally.

            _“Don’t mention it, Sam.”_

“I’ll get you everything you need ASAP.” Sam laughed. “Dean would’ve laughed at this massive chick-flick moment.”

            _“Your brother only knows about chick-flick moments because he binge watches soap operas.”_

Sam grinned. “If only I’d known that earlier. I would’ve destroyed him.”

            _“You always were the most compassionate Winchester,”_ Jim laughed.

            “I’ll call you later,” Sam said hanging up. He glanced at the clock on his wall. It was now a quarter past 12. With a yawn, Sam stood up from his desk and rifled through his wallet for a few singles. If he was pulling an all-nighter, he was going to need more than a simple latte to keep him going.

_9 hours later:_

It was nearly 9:30, and Sam was incredibly hungry. His stomach didn’t get the memo that it was no longer time to eat at night, and around 4 am he was ravenous. Finding nothing suitable, Sam had settled on some stale Cheetos he found in his drawer and they crumbled into powder the moment he bit into one of them. It was sad.

            Hard work paid off though, Sam had discovered several things about the park that wouldn’t have been obvious…partly because he had to hack confidential files, but that didn’t count in the grand scheme of things. He was still most certainly _not_ a hunter.

            Sam called Pastor Jim after going to the bathroom and taking a long shower. “Pastor Jim, it’s Sam.”

            _“Hey Sam. Did you get any sleep?”_

“Uh, no, not really,” Sam admitted. “But I did find out what’s going on at that freaky park.”

            _“You really are remarkably good at research,”_ Jim complimented.

            “I know,” Sam agreed flippantly. “The history of Griffith Park is pretty incredible. The ghosts your hunter friend spotted were all actual deaths that occurred in the same park, years apart. They’ve no connection whatsoever, but they started attacking around the same time. However, I didn’t know why they were active so recently or most interestingly why a ghost was crying.”

            _“Right…” Jim said slowly. “We know this.”_

“You’ve gotta know what you don’t know,” Sam explained. “So, first thing I did was research the park. It used to be a huge property belonging to a man named Antonio Feliz in the 1860s. Feliz had no known family, so he sold the land before he died, to a man named Griffith J. Griffith.”

            _“He had the same first and last name?”_

“Yeah, his parents probably hated him or something,” Sam laughed. “Anyway, Griffith buys the land in 1882 and then he gets shot in 1891. He lives, by some miracle. In 1903, he shoots his wife in a drunken rage. She somehow manages to survive too, but not before Griffith gets thrown in jail. He somehow manages to pay off officials and is released, only to die a horrible death by having a painful liver disease in 1919.”

            Jim winced. _“That’s all terrible, but how does this relate to the ghosts?”_

“Well, I thought that Griffith’s life was incredibly eventful so I thought maybe his ghost would be running around too,” Sam explained. “I decided to dig a little deeper…by looking into confidential county records and wills…” Sam was a little disgusted in the way he could easily use his criminal skills. “As I was saying, Griffith had an extraordinary life and more brushes with life and death than should be statistically normal. Turns out the land Griffith bought wasn’t supposed to be sold in the first place.”

            Jim furrowed his eyebrows. _“Keep going…”_

“So get this, the original owner of the land _did_ have other family.” Sam had an excited tone in his voice. He loved finally being able to piece everything together. It was even better when he could watch someone’s reaction to what Sam was saying, the way their eyes lit up and they had an ‘Aha!’ moment. Pastor Jim’s voice would have to do. “He had a 17 year old niece who he had adopted…I read this in the county records. Anyway, her name was Dona Petronilla. When her uncle wrote his will in 1863, he excluded her from everything. Dunno why, but he did. Anyway, eyewitness reports from that day claim that she put a curse on the land and shouted that no one would ever be able to use the land. Griffith fell into her curse.   

            “After that, she died a short while later. I don’t think it’s too much of a jump to guess that she’s a vengeful spirit. I did some more digging, and found out a wildfire ravaged the south side of the park. The entire south side is going under serious reconstruction where they’re tearing a lot of the historic buildings from the 1860s down.” Sam waited for Pastor Jim to wrap his head around all of it.

            _“So you think her ghost and the others were bothered by the recent construction? Makes sense…but…”_ Jim tilted his head a little in thought. “ _Why exactly would that one ghost be crying?”_

Sam smiled to himself. He was really damn good. “Good question, which leads me to my final conclusion. Petronilla put a curse upon the land and it was never realized until the construction began. She reawakened first, and the curse was used to drudge up the ghosts of all the people who died at the park. Whether they wanted to or not.”

            Sam could practically hear the pieces clicking into place in Pastor Jim’s head. _“You think she’s compelling them to do her bidding!?”_

“That’s my educated guess, yeah,” Sam yawned.

            _“Sam that’s wonderful work. Seriously. If your dad knew, he’d be really proud.”_ Jim wondered if he’d overstepped his boundaries.

            “Thanks,” Sam said softly. “Umm…Petronilla should be buried in the old plot on the park land. Apparently her old house is a small cottage still on the land, so it should be near there.”

            _“I’ll be sure to tell my friend of all of this. I owe you one, Sam.”_

“Consider it payment for all the stuff I broke in your house as a kid,” Sam replied with a mischievous grin.

            _“Done. Now get some rest. You sound like you’re dead on your feet.”_

“Oh trust me, Pastor Jim. No force on this earth is going to be able to wake me up.”

* * *

 

_ December 2003. Friday. Los Angeles _

            Pastor Jim had called Dean around noon the next day and drowned him in information.

            “Wait a sec—your guy figured this all out in one night?” Dean let out a low whistle. “Damn he’s good.”

            _“Yes, he’s quite remarkable,”_ Jim agreed. _“Now go out and finish the hunt so you can reunite with your fool father and tell him to pick up a phone and call me.”_

“Will do,” Dean told him. “And uh—when you do talk to my dad, d’you mind not—“

            _“I haven’t spoken to either of you in months, Dean.”_

            Dean could practically see the pastor’s eyes twinkling. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll call you when I meet up with my dad again.”

            _“You better.”_

Dean hung up the phone and proceeded to pack his supplies. He would leave later that evening—probably around 11 or so—in the hopes of nobody lurking around the creepy park.

            Dean sat back on the bed and rested his head against the headboard and flipped on the TV. Daytime sucked, and he knew it, but the silence bothered him.

            “Y’know,” he mumbled to himself. “California’s supposed to be about sun and sandy beaches and hot girls in bikinis. This is such a let down.”           

            Dean’s phone buzzed. “Well aren’t I popular today.”

            There was a single text message from his dad. ‘ _Lincoln City, Oregon. Some type of water succubus.’_

Dean sighed and typed out a hasty reply. _‘Will be there ASAP. Almost done in LA.’_ Apparently a courtesy call was too much to ask for from his dad. He ignored the little pang of fear that his father had forgotten him and continued to watch the awful television.

            At 10:45 that night, Dean left his crappy motel, leaving behind only a shirt and a change of pants. Everything else would be ready to go in the Impala, so that when it came time to leave the city of failed dreams, he could just hoof it.

            Dean arrived at the south side of the park near the construction area. Petronilla’s grave was on the local plot of land near the old historic house she used to live in.

It wasn’t difficult to spot Petronilla’s grave. The damn park practically marketed it as a kind of tourist ploy. _Morons._ Dean took out a large gallon jug filled with salt and created a circle around the grave he’d be digging and stepped inside. There was no way he was letting some ghost catch him unaware.

The moment Dean’s shovel broke ground, Petronilla’s spirit winked into existence and hovered near the salt lines, a furious expression on her face. Her eyes were wild and dark and her hair looked like a ravaged nest. She wore a lace white dress with a high collar that flowed like ocean ripples as she floated near the edge of the salt circle.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean continued digging, “But there’s no way in hell you’re coming in, so get comfy.”

Petronilla straightened and began summoning a current of air that would blow the salt away, but was interrupted by a steady blast from Dean’s shotgun. It would keep her at bay for a few minutes at most.

This continued for an hour or so, until Dean finally hit the old wooden coffin. “Yahtzee! Time to go, ghosty.”

Dean glanced at Petronilla, who was hovering above him. To his surprise she didn’t look scared or even mad…she was _smiling._

“Well, that’s super disturbing.”

Petronilla closed her eyes and began to glow with a bright red light. Dean couldn’t help but stare in fascination. The immortalized 17 year old looked like a hot coal, growing brighter and brighter, until she just stopped. From out of the ground, another ghost floated up, this one of a burly man in a tweed coat.

“What the fuck?” Dean reached for his shotgun.

Another ghost appeared behind Dean, this one of a little boy who couldn’t have been older than 7. His hair appeared to be wet and dripping onto his clothing.

Confusion washed over Dean, until he began to understand. “You’re controlling them aren’t you?” Dean hissed at Petronilla. “All the people who ever died in this park? You’re forcing them to do your dirty work?”

Petronilla merely smiled, but it was cold and filled with malice. Dean shuddered slightly. A few more ghosts appeared, and they all surrounded the salt circle like some form of barricade and Dean was feeling like a caged animal. “Jesus, how many of you poor bastards are there?”

The ghosts ignored him and closed their eyes. Dean didn’t want to know what they were planning so he poured liberal amounts of salt and lighter fluid on Petronilla’s body. Then he felt it. The wind had picked up and was blowing all around him, and the salt circle would be broken in any second. Frantically striking a matchbook, Dean dropped it on Petronilla’s corpse and smiled triumphantly. “Take that, bitch.”

Petronilla’s ghost cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Guess again, hunter.”

Dean was going into full-blown panic at this point. Why didn’t burning her bones work? He didn’t have time to think much further since the salt line was broken and at least 6 ghosts were all at the ready. Dean grabbed his shotgun and instinctively fired a blast that winked the two ghosts closest to him out of sight. He grabbed the handle of his duffel and began to run to the historic house. If he could just get there he could salt the windows…

            A hand yanked the back of Dean’s shirt and slammed him into the ground. Dean wheezed a bit and tried to see the ghost in front of him. His vision had exploded into a painful white and his head was throbbing. _Shoot the ghost, idiot!_ Dean pulled the trigger of his shotgun again, and blinked rapidly, trying to orient himself. Another ghost appeared in Dean’s periphery and he shot that one as well, without even bothering to turn and look at it properly _Get to the house. Get to the house._

            Dean heaved himself up off the ground and shakily began to run, shooting behind his back every few seconds, not bothering to see if his shots were hitting their marks. He burst through the front door and threw his shotgun down in exchange for the jug of salt. He frantically salted the door of the little wooden cottage. No way in or out now.

            It wasn’t permanent though; Dean knew the ghosts would use their wind harnessing whatever to blow the salt line away. Then he’d be in real trouble.

            What the hell could still be holding Petronilla here? Dean rifled through his duffle bag in the hopes of a solution coming to him. All he had was his shotgun (which was rapidly running out of ammo), a little bit of salt, a shit ton of lighter fluid, and his trusty zippo. _Well, I’m royally boned._

            Dean clenched his jaw. _Think. What could be holding her here?_ Dean kicked a scrap of wood from the floor of the cabin, and the answer floated lazily into the front of his mind. _The cabin._

            “Oh shit,” Dean breathed. It was Petronilla’s house wasn’t it? It made sense she’d be attached to it. It was one thing to salt and burn a body, but another entirely to torch a building. Especially a historic one. “Well,” Dean said gathering his large canister of lighter fluid, “guess arson will be added to my long list of skills.”

            Dean made sure to squirt lighter fluid everywhere around the cabin. The door was shaking steadily now, and Dean knew it was only a matter of time before the ghosts collectively broke it and scattered the salt lines.

            The door burst open with a bang and Dean was caught with his zippo in his hands. The salt line blew away easily, and Petronilla was upon him. She blasted him into the wall and twisted his sprained wrist until it gave way to a sickening snap.

            “Fuck!” Dean gasped in pain. “You bitch!”

            The ghost didn’t bother responding and began to squeeze his already bruised throat. Dean began to cough and his vision started to blur. He weakly flicked his zippo and hoped there was a flame and let it drop to the ground, which was covered in flammable liquid.

            Petronilla gasped and took a step back, her hand falling from Dean’s throat. Dean scrambled out of the way, grabbing his duffel bag as he bolted. The cabin completely exploded into flames the second Dean stepped outside. Dean could see Petronilla standing at the window, looking at him as she too caught fire.

            He didn’t wait to hear her final agonized screams. The ghosts she had been controlling were gone. Within minutes he knew the fire department would be here, and he needed to hightail it the hell out of LA. He shoved his stuff into the backseat of the Impala. His broken wrist would have to wait until he was at least a few hours away from the city. Dean slid into the Impala, and pulled out of the park, hoping to never have to step foot in it again.

            He headed north towards Oregon on the I-5, and regretfully realized he’d left a change of clothes back at the motel.

* * *

 

_ Friday Night, Stanford University _

            Sam was sound asleep, so naturally the fact that his door opened with a bang had him sitting up in terror, brandishing a water bottle.

            “Whoa there,” Brady laughed. “Gonna kill me with your water bottle, Sam?”

            Old habits died hard. Sam blinked a few times and put the water bottle back on his bedside table. “What d’you want Brady?”

            “Uhh, it’s our double date. Remember?” Brady raised his eyebrows.

            “Oh shit, that’s right,” Sam yawned. “What time is it?”

            “Nearly 6:30…did you sleep at all last night?”

            “Uh, no. Not really.” Sam rubbed his eyes wondering if there was a way he could get out of his blind date and go back to bed.

            Brady crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Were you up doing homework all night or something?”

            “Something like that, yeah.” 

            “Well you better hurry up and get dressed we’re supposed to meet the girls at 7:15!” Brady said impatiently. “And we all know how much you like to style your hair.”

            “Do not,” Sam yawned again, hopping off his bed. Might as well get this over with. “Whom am I even going out with? You never told me her name or anything.”

            “Nice proper grammar, Sam.” Brady leaned against the wall while Sam’s giant body moved around looking for clothing. “Her name’s Jessica. She likes to be called Jess. She’s really nice, you’ll like her.”

            “I hope,” Sam said pulling clothing out of the small closet. “Give me 15 minutes and I’ll be right out.”

            Brady nodded and stepped out of the door. Sam rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

            20 minutes later he made his way out of his room in a nice pair of jeans and a button down shirt. Brady was playing with a bouncy ball out in the hallway.

            “Looking snazzy, Sam. Ready to go?”

            “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sam muttered darkly.

            “You sound like I’m sending you off to visit your executioner,” Brady said rolling his eyes.

            The pair of them made their way through the dorm and Sam could see the outlines of two girls standing off to the edge of the entrance of the building. Brady exited the building first and Sam followed suit.

            “Hey Cindy,” he said with a wave.

A brunette with shiny curls smiled at him. “Hey Brady.”

“Sam this is Cindy, Cindy this is Sam,” Brady introduced.

However Sam wasn’t staring at Cindy, but at her friend. A curly haired blonde who was squinting at him. “You,” he said.

“Cranky coffee-shop-calculus guy,” she smiled.

Brady opened his mouth in wonder. “Uh…you two know each other.”

Sam responded with a ‘no’ right as Jessica said ‘yes.’

“Okay…” Brady mumbled. “This should be fun. Let’s go.”

The four students piled into Brady’s BMW, and Sam’s long legs ended up squashed in the backseat next to Jessica. Brady and his date were ignoring them completely. Sam could tell that they weren’t going to be watching the movie all that much.

“So did you take a nap?” she whispered to him as Brady began driving towards the theatre.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah. Like you wouldn’t believe. I’m Sam, by the way.”

“I know,” she replied. “Cindy told me your name. Jess.”

“Nice to finally know who was incredibly annoyed at my subpar coffee shop skills,” Sam smiled.

“Your customer service leaves something to be desired, but the coffee itself was perfectly mediocre.” Jess’ eyes were a very pretty blue, and Sam realized she _was_ very pretty.

“Just average? I’d like to think I’m more of a slightly above average kinda guy,” Sam straightened his back and attempted to look cocky and self-assured. He realized that on a subconscious level he was attempting to emulate Dean.

“I’m a harsh grader and have high standards,” Jess said with a shrug.

“So, uh, what are you planning on majoring in?” Sam asked kicking himself silently. She doesn’t want to talk about school, _moron._

Jess didn’t seem to mind Sam’s awkward conversational skills though. “I’m not really sure yet…I like biology and history equally. You?”

“Probably legal studies,” Sam told her. “I want to go to law school.”

“Law boy, huh?” She looked at him with what Sam figured was X-Ray vision. “I could see you as a lawyer.”

“Really? What make you say that?” Sam asked.

“Well,” Jess looked him over again. “You just have the attitude and the look. You kind of have this earnest looking face that will make people want to agree with you…and I think with a suit you’d look really professional. Like a ‘young rookie lawyer who believes in the justice system’ kinda thing. At least that’s how it looks on _Law & Order._”

Sam laughed and felt his ears go a little red. Thank god for the dim car lighting. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Brady stopped the car and parked in an optimal viewing position. Sam was slightly annoyed. Going to a movie about killer clowns was a terrible idea. Especially now that Jess would just laugh at him.

The beginning of the movie started to play and Sam wished he could keep his eyes on the screen like everyone else, but he couldn’t He looked out the window and wished the damn killer clown movie would just end.

Jessica stole a glance at Sam and then back at Brady and Cindy who were looking pretty cozy. She cleared her throat and Sam seemed to jump a little. “I’m going to get some air,” she announced. She looked at Sam pointedly, “Come with me?”

“Sure,” Sam said gratefully. He and Jess walked outside amongst the field of parked cars.

“So…you don’t like clowns?” A smile was beginning to tug at the corners of her lips.

Sam groaned. Here we go. “I just find them kinda…”

“Creepy?” she supplied. “I know what you mean. Cirque du soleil always weirded me out a bit.”

A breathy laugh came from Sam’s mouth. “Tell me about it. When I was a kid my brother used to think it was hilarious to put clown stickers on my things and wear those masks at Halloween...” Sam’s voice trailed off. Talking about his family wasn’t really something he wanted to do.

“That’s awful,” Jess said with a smirk. “I don’t dislike clowns as much, but I hate butterflies. Can’t stand them.”

“Really?” Sam asked intrigued. Butterflies had always been pretty to him, with their vibrant colors and graceful fluttering.

“They’re disgusting,” she shuddered. “Glorified moths. I mean they have huge creepy eyes and a disgusting worm body and they _land_ on you!”

Sam laughed. He’d have to thank Brady for practically dragging him along to this double date. Jess was somebody he could easily see himself becoming friends with.

* * *

 

_ Saturday. Palo Alto, CA. 2003.  _

            Dean didn’t know what had compelled him to pull into the city of Palo Alto. _I’m just refueling the Impala and grabbing a burger,_ he told himself.  So he did just that. He filled up the Impala’s tank and bought himself a cheeseburger for lunch. He’d driven all night, stopping only when he was 3 hours away from LA to wrap his left wrist to the best of his ability and wipe away some the sticky blood that matted the back of his hair in a gas station bathroom. He also changed into a shirt that wasn’t dirty and frayed. His pants would have to do. Around lunch, Dean realized the freeway he was on would take him directly through Palo Alto. Where Sam was.

            No way in hell was Dean talking to Sam. Not like this. Still, his body seemed to ignore his brain’s commandments and he felt himself park the Impala at a restaurant he didn’t strictly _need_ to stop at.

            Despite the breezy California air, it felt toxic. _What the hell am I doing here? I need a drink. I deserve a drink._ Dean pulled into a small bar and glanced at his watch. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon. _Oh well, it’s 6 pm somewhere._

            He sat down in the dark little hole-in-the-wall and ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer. He looked around his surroundings and only saw a few college students who had probably just become legal, playing pool. Dean downed the shot and allowed the warmth to spread through his entire body, willing it to make the suffocating feeling stop. Dean ordered another shot and sent it down the hatch, too. He eyed the boys playing pool. They were terrible. He could take them in his sleep.

            Dean stood up, and dramatically stumbled over to the group of boys. “Can I join you guys?” he asked slurring his words on purpose.

            A kid with glasses looked a little nervous. “Your hand’s broken and you seem kinda out of it.”

            “Shut up,” another boy with a heavy-set face who appeared to be the leader hissed at his friend. “We won’t take your money, dude.”

            “Scared you’re gonna lose?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

            The leader gave Dean a half-smile. “You’re on.”

            It really was too easy. In an hour and half Dean was up $1200. After the ringleader had lost, each boy decided to have a turn. There were 5 of them. Dean tipped the bartender generously, feeling slightly better about stopping.

            Dean let himself fall into autopilot when he slumped into the Impala. _I’m just gonna make sure the little bitch is alright. From afar._ Dean parked the car in the foliage of some trees and stepped out. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling like a spy in the army. He shouldn’t be here. He heard laughter and crouched behind some bushes.

Through the small bits of green leaves he could see a mop of brown hair, laughing away at what some guy was telling him. A pit in Dean’s stomach began to form. He was pretty sure he was going to throw up. To his dismay and relief, Sam and his friend kept walking away.

Dean finally straightened up and glanced at his watch. It was 5 o’clock. _Probably getting an early dinner._ Dean was frozen. He should leave. He should really just leave.

He didn’t know what made him do it. It was an animalistic instinct that had him dart through the door entrance the next time a girl walked through. He stood in the lobby, his heart hammering so loudly he could hear it in his chest. _I should leave. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here. Sammy doesn’t…dad said…_ Dean squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath and wandered the hall. It wasn’t difficult to find his brother’s room. Some moron had taken it upon himself to make little nametags labeling who lived in each room. Dean rolled his eyes.

Dean wondered if he’d have to pick the lock on his brother’s door, but to his surprise, Sam’s door swung open lazily. Dean felt slightly disgusted. Rule number one was to always _always_ lock the damn door. Sam was just a sitting duck. The small room was like a little square. Sam’s closet was full of hoodies and weird T-shirts Dean had never approved of. _Typical._

Sam’s bed was neatly made, and his desk was pretty tidy. Classic OCD Sam. Dean glanced at the whiteboard above Sam’s bed; there was a long list of things he needed to do, most of them schoolwork. Dean walked around the other side of Sam’s desk. There was a large notebook, several jars of pens organized by color, a laptop, and a picture in a frame. Dean picked up the picture with a knot in his stomach. His mother and father were smiling up at him from their picture frame, not a care in the world. Dean gently placed it back on Sam’s desk. Other than that, there was no trace Sam had any family at all.

Dean rubbed his eyes. What had he honestly expected? A huge wall full of the family’s best moments? Yeah, right. Dean glanced down at Sam’s open notebook, and it caught his eye. It seemed like Sam was doing his taxes or something.

Dean looked at it again, and realized Sam was saving money up for an apartment over the winter and summer. _What kind of a shithole are you going to stay in, Sammy? You’d rather take that over us?_

Sam was clearly stressed about it, though. His writing had been frantic, and it looked like he barely had enough to survive off of.

Dean pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the money he’d won from the stupid college kids at the bar. It wasn’t really _his_ money. It was merely evidence that he’d been somewhere he shouldn’t have been. Dean dug around Sam’s desk drawers until he found a plain white envelope. He shoved his winnings into it, and walked out of Sam’s room clutching the money to his chest. In the lobby he slipped the envelope into Sam’s mailbox and walked out the door of the dorm, intending to never step foot into it again.

Unlocking the Impala and popping a cassette tape in, Dean geared up for the 8-hour drive to meet his dad. _Merry Christmas, little bro._

* * *

 

_ Monday Morning. Stanford University. 2003. _

            Sam couldn’t figure out who the mystery money sender was for the life of him. He had a sneaking suspicion it was Brady, but every time he asked, Brady denied it and refused to take the money. It wasn’t like Brady was poor or anything; his father was a renowned surgeon and his mother was a corporate businesswoman. They weren’t lacking in funds. At all. He didn’t know of anybody else who would leave an unmarked envelope with 1200 bucks in it. To make up for it, Sam took Brady out to a nice dinner.

            Jessica had hung out with him yesterday, and was actually very sweet. They’d hit it off almost instantly and Sam decided he most definitely wanted to be friends with her. Brady was like an accidental angel. He’d eventually find a way to make it up to him. Maybe he’d help him get through the upcoming finals week.

            With only a few weeks until winter vacation Sam felt more relaxed than he had in months. It was a Christmas miracle.

* * *

 

_ Monday Night. Lincoln City, Oregon. 2003.  _

            “So tell me again why it took you so long to toast a vengeful spirit?” John asked cleaning out his favorite gun at a tacky motel table.

            “Like I said, there was a curse on the land. This ghost could force the spirits of other people who died into attacking me. I torched her bones and that didn’t work, so I eventually torched the historic landmark where she use to live.” Dean smirked. “I’m a pretty good arsonist.”

            “I thought it’d be a smaller case,” John said truthfully. “You seemed to do just fine on your own, though, minus the broken hand. Nice work.”

            “Thanks,” Dean said, although he didn’t really take it as a compliment. If his dad saw he could do just fine on his own, that was opening the gateway for him to just up and leave Dean behind. “What were you doing in Oklahoma, anyway?”

            “Looking into a poltergeist,” John told him gruffly. “I’m going to go get something from the truck, stay here for a sec.”

            Dean narrowed his eyes in disbelief, but nodded. He wasn’t going to pick a fight over something like this. If his dad thought it was important, he’d let him know. _Right?_

John looked through the armory he had in his truck and clenched his jaw. He didn’t _like_ sending Dean on solo hunts only to have him come back with a broken wrist. The problem was, he couldn’t let Dean anywhere near what he was doing. There were whispers he’d managed to latch onto of a demon. A demon with yellow eyes. From what John had gathered, he was not a force to be messed with. He wasn’t completely sure yet if this was the demon that killed Mary, but he had a gut feeling. The fringes of the hunting network John had built up over the last 20 years had slipped him the information that this demon had been looking for children. _Infants._ No clue as to why, but it couldn’t be good. The last thing John wanted to do was involve Dean. If Dean got hurt…he couldn’t even think about it.

            Pulling out a bag full of weapons, John slammed the trunk closed and walked back to the motel door.

            “Up for hunting a succubus, or are you tired out from your vacation in LA?”

            Dean snorted. “I loved getting leisurely thrown around by ghosts, very relaxing.”

            “Well let’s get to it then.”

            “I’m right behind you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter of the story I don't have a whole lot to say. It's much lighter in tone than the last one, since the last chapter was The Fight. It cuts back and forth between what Sam and Dean are doing and how they've gotten on in their lives. Sam's portions of this chapter were really supposed to emulate that typical college stress where you're torn between socializing, studying, or stressing about something. I also wanted to toy with the idea that Brady had introduced Sam to Jess after he'd already been possessed, and it seemed like a good opportunity. The one thing I debated deleting was where Sam helps out Pastor Jim. I know he is absolutely adamant about hunting, but I liked the idea that he was indirectly helping his brother. Plus I love it when Sam is a research guru. As for Dean's portion of the story, it gets a little more complex. The hunt he's on is based off of actual 'hauntings' in Griffith Park. It's an actual park located in LA that's absolutely massive. There's a ton of stuff about it online, and I figured it'd be more fun to base Dean's hunt off of 'real' haunted occurrences. The part where he leaves Sam the envelope of money was dodgy to me, though. I wanted him to talk to Sam, but life isn't wrapped up in a ribbon like that, so I let him simply leave it for Sam to find. However, even that was something I almost deleted, because I don't know if Dean would actually stop there on his way north. I just figured it was near Christmas, and Dean probably couldn't resist the urge to just see if Sam was okay. Let me know what you think! Reviews/critiques are appreciated!


	22. Roads

**Chapter 22: Roads**

_ Colorado, late 2004. _

            It didn’t matter what they hunted. Not really. As long as there was something to stab, bleed, behead, or shoot nothing else seemed to matter. Dean knew it. His dad knew it. They were both just pretending to give a crap about circumstances. And they both knew that, too. It was the infamous Winchester game of _I know-you know-I know-you know_. Hunting was automatic. Cold, clinical, and precise. No rests, no vacations, no casual Friday’s. Dean supposed he went through the motions because that’s what was expected of him, and hell if this was going to be the time he started questioning his dad. Worse though, than the constant hunting of whatever was on the menu that week, was his dad’s secret agenda.

            “Dean are you paying any attention to me at all?” John snapped waving a stack of papers in his face. The garish peach curtains in the motel made John look all the more menacing. “Am I boring you explaining about the brutal exsanguination of 3 people?”

            Rubbing a hand against his head, Dean attempted to look apologetic. “Sorry, dad. I was listening, I swear. You, uh, just said that the victims were all bled dry and, um, all men.”

            John gave him a stern once over. “Vics were taken from the same small town in Texas. Fredericksburg. All bled dry, dumped in the fields of a peach farm. Coroner’s report says there were suspicious bite marks on all the bodies as well as a powerful venom that acted as a sedative in all of ‘em.”

            “Ugh, gross,” Dean grimaced. “Whatcha thinking it is? Dracula?”

            John pulled out a familiar brown leather-bound book. He rifled through his journal until he found the entry he was looking for. “Here it is. Vetala. They bleed their victims dry and have a fast-acting poison that knocks people out. They feed slowly over a period of days, letting their victims stew.”

            “How do you kill them?” Dean asked. It was the only question that really mattered.

            “Silver knife to the heart,” John said with a self-satisfied smile.

            “When do we leave?” It was inevitable. His dad was just warming him up for the journey that never had a concrete start or finish.

            John glanced at his journal again. “We’re not going. _You_ are.”

            Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sending me off. Again?” He couldn’t help it, a whiny noise slipped into his voice.

            John looked up at him, his eyes dark and stormy. “Something wrong, Dean?”

            Dean held his father’s gaze, but his voice wavered a bit. “No, I just thought this was something you’d wanna be in on.”

            “I took one down a couple of years back. They’re solitary creatures, hunt alone. You’re a big boy, Dean. You should be fine without me.” Tone crisp and commanding.

            Dean gave a small imperceptible nod. “Where are you going to be?” Forced casualty wasn’t his strong suit.

            “I need to look into something.” A flicker in John’s eyes signaled the end of the conversation, but Dean pressed a bit more.

            “Let me come with, I’m pretty experienced with firearms.” Dean smiled trying to add levity to the situation, but it didn’t reach his eyes that were hard and filled with concern.

            “No.” Firm, solid, definite. “I’ve got to handle this on my own.”

            Dean clenched his jaw. “I—“

            “Are you questioning my decisions?” It was a loaded question. ‘ _Are you acting like Sam’_ would’ve been more appropriate. Question something and you’re an insubordinate. Winchester crime number one. Don’t question something, and get left in the dust.

            “I—“ Dean almost always broke first. He looked away from his father. “No sir.”

            “You should be ready to go by tomorrow, yeah?” John carried on like nothing was wrong with what was happening to the diminishing Winchester family. “We’ll meet up again in Massachusetts, alright?”

            Dean nodded like a perfectly trained lapdog, disgusted with himself. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

_ Stanford University. Late 2004. _

            It wasn’t that Sam was _weird._ Not really. He just kept to himself a lot. Not that it mattered. Everyone got along well with easy-going Sam Winchester. He laughed at all the right times, smiled perfectly, and was empathetic to the extreme. _He’s a great guy, you’re really lucky._ Jess knew that was true. She also knew that there were subtle things she picked up about Sam that made her think he’d choreographed his life. There was so much she didn’t know, and he never stopped surprising her.

            “Hey, Jess,” Sam said swopping in and kissing her on the cheek. “How’s the studying going?”

            “Miserable,” Jess admitted shifting her things so Sam could sit next to her. The library was only moderately crowded, so she’d managed to snag a nice little table in an alcove allowing for a modicum of privacy.

            “Tell me about it,” Sam grimaced. “I’ve got a paper on the iconography of the feminine ideal, a test in legal systems of the UK, and I’ve got the LSAT to study for.”

            “You make me sound like a slacker.” Jess crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Seriously.”

            Sam smiled that perfectly dimpled smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s all fairly easy, just time consuming. Biochemistry? Now _that’s_ difficult.”

            Sam opened his backpack and pulled out a laptop and a large LSAT prep book and began rifling though the pages until he found one that had been considerably marked up.

            Jess couldn’t believe Sam sometimes. Most pre-law kids hired tutors or attended some sort of group class where they went over the best test-taking strategies. Sam didn’t do either. Had brushed her suggestions aside with a ‘don’t like working with group environments.’ Yet, here he was studying perfectly adequately on his own. Judging from the markings in the book, more than adequately. The nerve.

            “When are you taking the LSAT again?”

            “Two weeks,” Sam replied, not bothering to look up from the prep book.

            “Are you nervous?” Jess looked at the thick book in her boyfriend’s hands. Most people taking the exam had at least one stress-cry under their belt by now.

            Sam raised his head slightly, so that Jess could see his large hazel eyes underneath a mop of hair. “No, why would I be?”

            This was a prime example of Sam’s not-weird weirdness. He was unnaturally cool about things that _should_ be stressful.

            “Well, I just wondered if you were because this test is a huge deal and most pre-law kids are close to snapping at this point.”

            Sam fully lifted his face from the book now and Jess could see his eyes twinkling with a slight confusion. “Are you doubting my abilities?”

            “No! Of course not, Sam. We all know you’re a walking encyclopedia or whatever.” Jess laid her head down on the table. “You should teach me your Zen ways or whatever. You don’t ever stress about school.”

            Sam looked at her like she was an alien. “Well, it’s just not stressful in the sense that would make me worry.”

            She quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, but we’re college students. Worrying about classes and jobs is what we’re _supposed_ to do.”

            Sam leaned forward and closed his book. “Partially true. We do have to be concerned about those things, but we don’t have to let them get to us.”

            Jess glared at him. Sam was infuriatingly rational. “Yes, but everyone feels overwhelmed whether they want to or not. Take the biochem exam I’m studying for. It’s stressful, even though I know it shouldn’t be.”

            Sam smiled. “Think of it this way: let’s say you completely bomb this exam. What will happen?”

            “I’ll probably end up with a terrible grade in the class.”

            Sam nodded encouragingly. “Right. And then what?”

            Jess squinted at him. “What does it matter?”

            “Just continue.”

            “Okay, I’d get a bad grade and it wouldn’t reflect well on overall GPA transcripts.”

            “And then what?”

            Sam was smiling again with his calm face. Jess wanted to roll her eyes at him. “And then I don’t graduate and am unemployed and live on the streets. Is that what you want to hear?”

            Sam’s teeth were too white, Jess decided. They were practically blinding her with that stupid grin. “We both know that won’t happen. So, failing the LSAT or failing any exam for that matter won’t drastically alter my life. So, there’s no real threat, hence no reason to be nervous.”

            Jess leaned into Sam’s arm. “You can’t use logic against me in my time of crisis.”

            “It’s my specialty,” Sam whispered into her hair.

            She turned to face Sam fully. “What do you mean about ‘no real threat’? You expecting something worse to happen?”

            To the untrained eye Sam would’ve merely looked confused. Jess knew better. For a split second a glimmer in his eyes indicated something else. Pain? Fear? It was impossible to tell, and by the time Jess registered there was _something_ there, it was gone, Sam’s face schooled into a perfectly mastered expression.

            “Nothing, I just mean it’s not like a test is actually going to affect your life.”

            “Right,” Jess said. She knew Sam had meant more. Sam knew she knew he had meant more. They left it alone though. Why go poking at something that wouldn’t affect them?

            “Y’know, I have full faith in your abilities, Sam. When you get a perfect score, you’re taking me out to dinner.”

            “Of course,” Sam murmured kissing her forehead.

            Jess closed her eyes. Sam and his secrets. Maybe one day he’d talk to her. Or maybe not. It didn’t really matter.

* * *

 

_ Fredericksburg, Texas. Late 2004. _

            Fredericksburg was exactly what Dean had expected it would be. Cute, quiet, and quaint enough to have stray tourists stumble through the town. All 6.6 square miles of it.

            The one thing that separated it from other small Texas towns, Dean noticed, was the European aftertaste that all the architecture seemed to have. Apparently it had a lot of German settlers back in the 1840s, so the buildings had a slightly gothic feel to them, with cobbled walls and brick buildings all dispersed along the main road.

            There was no denying it, Dean was a county boy at heart, but small-towns like this made him feel claustrophobic. Everything was too microscopic, and it didn’t grant him the shield of anonymity that he so desired. He stuck out like a shiny new toy on Christmas and it left him feeling exposed.

            Dean pulled into a run-down motel; thankful it wasn’t also created in the cutesy architecture. He unloaded his small duffel and wished he could fall boneless onto the neatly made bed in the center of the room. Driving 15 hours a day was getting really old really fast. Especially when there was nobody to talk to.

            Instead, Dean surfed the web a little bit to see if he could find out more about the murders and Vetalas. Apparently the murders had started about 4 months back, but as far as the police could tell it was just some serial killer. In a big city like New York or LA, it might’ve been blown over. In a small town like middle-of-fucking-nowhere Fredericksburg? Things like this tended to make waves.

            Deciding that his next best course of action was to talk to the locals, Dean headed out of the motel and decided to stop for lunch. _Multi-tasking._

            He settled comfortably in an empty-looking diner. The colors and 1950s interior all looked a little too much like caricatures to fit in well with the German town.

            A pretty young waitress who couldn’t have been more than 18 made her way over to his table immediately. “What can I get for ya, sir?” Her voice had a slight drawl to it, Texan accent barely seeping through when she spoke.

            “Well, Jenny,” he read her nametag. “I’d love a bacon cheeseburger and a side of fries.”

            “Comin’ right up.” Jenny gave him a small smile before skipping away.

            Dean watched her walk away. She was _very_ pretty. _Focus on your damn job, Winchester._ Instead, he pulled out a newspaper he’d bought earlier that day and scanned the articles detailing police leads on the investigation.

            “You lookin’ into those murders?” Jenny asked lightly, setting down the bacon cheeseburger.

            “I am, actually.” Dean pulled out an FBI badge from his pocket. “But I’m trying to keep it on the DL, ok?”

            “Sure, officer,” Jenny nodded like an excited toddler.

            “Is there anything you can tell me about Fredericksburg? Anyone seem a little off to you?” Dean bit one of his French fries. They were still hot and tasted like deep fried heaven.

            “No, sir.” Jenny’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Mama and me have owned the diner for 5 months or so. Nearly everybody in town’s passed through here at least once. Most people don’t really ever leave this town, y’know?”

            “Nothing strange whatsoever?” Dean confirmed.

            “No…well…” Jenny bit her lip and Dean nodded encouragingly. “Well there is one person I can think of…”

            “This is a matter of national security,” Dean urged.

            “There’s this girl,” Jenny started. “People ‘round here know everybody, but nobody really seems to know her. Named Stella. Can’t be much older than me. I met her once when I was handin’ out flyers for the diner. She was rude…Apparently she has a knack for trouble, but it doesn’t mean she’s the killer. She’s much too small to have the strength to be bleedin’ people.”

            “Of course,” Dean assured her. “Jenny, do you happen to know where Stella lives?”

            “Sure, lives near the interstate. Just follow the road down the 290 and there’s a little trailer park. She lives there.” Jenny bit her lip. “She isn’t goin’ to get in trouble is she?”

            “No, just need to do some routine questioning.” Dean flashed a smile that showed off his pearly whites.

            Jenny blushed slightly. “Of course.” She stumbled a little as she attempted to make her way back to the kitchen.

            “By the way,” Dean called out. “The fries are delicious.”

* * *

 

_ Stanford University. Late 2004.  _

            Sam wasn’t _strange._ Not really. He just had his…unique stories. It wasn’t like anything was super out-of-the-ordinary, but when Sam Winchester wanted to tell a story, he told a damn good story.

            Truth or Dare. That was the game Jess had chosen to play that night sitting on the hard dorm room floor across from Sam with her legs crossed chomping on a slice of pizza so greasy it elevated her cholesterol just thinking about it. All in all, it was a perfect night.

            “Wanna watch a movie?” Sam asked opening his laptop. “I’ve got a couple we could see.”

            “Nah,” Jess took another bite of the pizza, gooey cheese dripping off of it. “Feeling a little too spacey to watch a movie. How about a game?”

            Sam looked puzzled. “A game? I don’t have any, but I’m sure I could check the common room for—“

            “Not that kind of game.” Jess cut him off before he could strain himself. “Truth or Dare.”

            Sam raised his eyebrows and gave her a wide-mouthed smile. “What is this? Middle school?”

            Jess took a huge bite of pizza and tried to smile seductively at the same time. The resultant face made her look like a chipmunk. “Unless you’re too scared.”

            “Scared?” Sam cocked his head to the side, smug. “I’m not even familiar with the word.”

            Jess stretched her legs out in front of her and snorted. “Clowns,” she whispered to herself.

            “Hey!” Sam shouted a red tinge appearing in his cheeks. “You said you’d never hold that against me!”

            “Mmm...I lied.” Jess inspected him from head to toe as if determining if he was suitable. “You’re lucky you’re tall.”

            “This betrayal cuts deep,” Sam said in mock astonishment.

            “You up for playing the game, Romeo?”

            “Born ready.”

            “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Jess shoved the remaining piece of pizza into her mouth, the roof of her mouth pleasantly coated in slippery film. “So, I’ll let you go first.”

            “Okay, truth or dare?” Sam crossed his arms waiting for her answer.

            “Dare,” Jess said firmly.

            “Uhh, okay,” Sam looked around the room trying to gather inspiration. “I dare you to…eat the entire pizza.”

            Jess glanced at the remaining three slices, all but forgotten. “You’re kidding me, right?”

            “What?” Sam asked obtusely.

            “Eat the rest of the pizza? Are you going easy on me?”

            “No!” Sam defended himself. “I don’t know what you want me to ask of you!”

            Jess sighed and gave up. “Fine. But I can eat you under the table, Sam Winchester.” She picked up another slice of pizza and finished it in three bites. Through a mouthful she attempted to speak. “My tu’n. Tw’th ‘r day’r?”

            Sam seemed to understand her well enough and automatically responded, “Truth.”

            Jess swallowed the monstrous mouthful and quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Lame.”

            “It was a valid choice!” Sam argued; large limbs flailing as he tried to reason with her. “Besides who knows what kind of dare you would’ve had me do.”

            Jess frowned innocently. “What you don’t trust me?”

            “Not at all.”

            “Fair enough. Okay…” Jess wracked her brain to try and come up with something original. “What’s the mot reckless thing you’ve ever done under the age of 15?”

            Sam wrinkled his eyebrows. “That’s oddly specific.”

            “The older you get the more ‘reckless’ becomes justified teenage rebellion,” Jess shrugged. “Besides I wanna know what illegal deeds, Mr. Lawboy has done.”

            Sam gave her a small smile, but fidgeted uncomfortably. “Heh, I’m practically puritanical. But…there’s one time I can remember…”

            “Go on,” Jess nodded.

            “So it’s mischief night…I couldn’t have been more than 13,” Sam began. “And my dad was away on business. My brother and I were instructed not to leave the apartment. I wanted to go out and play pranks with a group of friends, but Dean wouldn’t have it, y’know? So I snuck out later that night.”

            Jess’ eyes were wide. “You? Sneaking out? Sam I’m-A-Perfect-Person Winchester?”

            Sam bit his lip. “I was young and impressionable.”

            “Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

            “Anyway,” Sam rolled his eyes. “I snuck out and my friends and I did stupid little pranks…like tee-peeing houses and ringing doorbells and running away and stupid kids stuff, the usual. We started to get bored, and then one of the idiots I was with had the bright idea of sneaking into the school and stealing this stupid fish trophy that the principle had outside the office.”

            Jess’ eyes were practically popping out of her head. “You didn’t.”

            Sam groaned. “Oh, but I did. Don’t judge me.”

            “Cone of silence,” Jess promised.

            “We get to the school and one by one the group starts to chicken out…until one of ‘em mentions how I haven’t participated as much as anyone else…”

            “Don’t tell me you caved to peer pressure.”

            Sam grimaced and sent her pained expression that could only be caused by the self-hatred of your middle school self. “They dared me to do it, and I couldn’t really back down, could I?”

            “So if I dared you to break into the biology building right now, would you do it?” Jess grinned maliciously.

            “I’m not 13 and an idiot anymore,” Sam pointed out.

            “Well, you’re not 13 anymore,” Jess agreed.

            Sam threw her a patented Sam Winchester glare and continued. “So I break in an—“

            “Wait, how did you break in?”

            “I, uh, picked the lock. The backdoor was old and it was pretty easy to do…” Sam looked mortified.

            “Jesus,” Jess whispered. “You’re like James Bond or something. Who the hell taught you that?”

            “My brother,” Sam admitted. “It was a game of sorts when we were kids. ‘Let’s see who can pick the lock fastest. Winner gets extra dessert.’ You know, boys are really into illegal things and fire…”

            “Hmm, I have a cousin and he was into video games,” Jess said dubiously.

            “Whatever, back to my story. So I break in and find the fish trophy outside the office, and I grab it. I’m running down the dark and empty hallways all victorious and shit, top-of-the-world high.” Sam shook his head with a self-defeating smile. “I burst out of the school whooping, when I’m suddenly grabbed from behind and yanked off my feet.”

            “Did the cops catch you?” Jess asked apprehensively.

            Sam shook his head again. “Worse. I look up to see my brother towering over me with this angry look on his face. I think I nearly peed myself I was so fucking scared. Trust me—“ Sam caught the look on Jess’ face “my brother isn’t someone you wanna fuck with. So he yanks me up while I’m still clutching the stupid fish trophy and my friends are all freaked by now, too.

            “And then Dean kinda stomps over to the rest of my idiot friends and sorta _growls_ at them. They all bolted. Like ran every which way, like in some Saturday morning cartoon. He was dragging me home, but I knew I was in for it when we got there, so I put up a sort of public fight.”           

            “Oh god, Sam,” Jess laughed. “You only made it worse.”

            “Definitely,” Sam agreed. He wasn’t embarrassed anymore, he was laughing. Laughing so hard it shook his entire body and made him throw back his head. Seeing Sam lost in his childhood memories was a beautiful sight. “The entire way back I kept screaming and dragging my feet and clutching lamp posts and stuff. Dean was so pissed because people kept giving him these child-kidnapper looks. I think he pinched me at one point and I tried to bite him.”

            “You sucked, Sam.”

            “I did. So, we finally get home right when I’m thinking Dean’s gonna let me have it, it gets a thousand times worse. My dad’s sitting there waiting at the kitchen table with a newspaper in his hands, pretending to read it while he’s secretly waiting to rip us a new one. He starts yelling at us about how irresponsible we are; you know the drill. Anyway, he finally notices the stupid fish trophy still in my hand and asks what the hell it is.” Sam was looking over Jess’ head, lost in thought. His eyes seemed a million miles away, wherever that was. Jess couldn’t help but stare at him; Sam’s childhood was something he never talked about. Nothing beyond, ‘I have an older brother named Dean’ and ‘We moved a lot as kids.’

            “I was about to confess, when Dean—“ Sam cleared his throat, as if the memory had gotten stuck. “Dean told my dad it was his. That he’d won a fishing trophy he had to pick up.”

            “He covered for your ass after you tried to _bite_ him?” Jess asked incredulously.

            For the first time that night, Sam genuinely looked repentant. “Yeah, he knew it’d be worse in the long run because it’d just lead to a huge fight about my irresponsible nature.”

            Jess snorted. “You’re many things, Sam. Irresponsible isn’t the word I would use to characterize you.”

            Sam attempted to smile back at her, but it came out wrong. Like a smudge on drawing that had been erased over and over. “Thanks. Anyway, dad obviously didn’t believe that terrible lie, but he couldn’t tell what had actually happened. So Dean and I both got our asses handed to us.” Sam chuckled weakly.

            Jess wanted to ask more, but didn’t interrupt. Sam continued, almost forgetting she was there. “The next day at school the principal was beyond pissed. Back before they installed security cams, so nobody knew who took the stupid trophy. He threatened expulsion if he ever found who did it. I think Dean kept the stupid thing as a souvenir. It just disappeared one day…” Sam’s voice trailed off wistfully.

            “Wow,” Jess said finally.

            “Yeah.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had when he didn’t know how to move the conversation forward.

            Jess alleviated the burden from him and laughed. “That far exceeded my expectations for you.”

            Sam looked her in the eyes, a slight wariness in them. “What did you expect?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.” Jess pretended to think. “That your most reckless act would be mixing coke and pop rocks.”

            Sam snorted. “You’re opinion of me is flattering.”

            “You complete me, lawboy,” Jess laughed.

            Sam remained a glacier in her life; she could chip away at was above the surface, but below the ocean there was a mass that she hadn’t even begun to touch. Wasn’t sure if she ever could. Sam wasn’t _strange._ Not really. Just undiscovered. For now.

* * *

 

_ Fredericksburg Texas. Late 2004. _

            This had to be, without a doubt, one of the most boring stakeouts Dean had ever been on, and he’d been on _plenty._ If he turned on the music he risked missing some crucial noise, and if he fell asleep and something happened then that would be his fault. The Impala’s sleek black paint was cloaked in the darkness, parked behind some trees. Just enough room to see the small mobile home where Stella supposedly resided.

            After being parked for a good 4 hours just waiting, Dean was beginning to regret not just barging in there. So far no indication that Stella was even home.

            A small light flickered on in the distance, creating a yellow tinge. A dusty red car had pulled up in front of the mobile home. Dean squinted and could make out two figures, one male and one female, walking towards the house.

            The smaller figure had her arm around the tall shape and was practically clinging to his neck. Dean straightened and shifted his hand to his waist, where a silver knife was stowed, as well as his trusty gun loaded with silver bullets. Quietly, Dean opened the car door and slipped out, staying low to the ground in case Stella decided to look down the lane.

            She seemed far too occupied in her guest however, and Dean kept his eyes peeled. The cold air was blowing straight through his jacket to the bone. It made him tense, nervous. The moment Stella stepped into the mobile home, he was going in after her.

            The smaller of the two figures in the distance pulled on the larger one’s arm. Giggles. Then finally, the pull on the trailer door and the figures vanished. Dean straightened fully intent on storming the house when something pulled the back of his jacket and his head connected with the concrete.

            Stars exploded in his field of vision, white light dancing along his closed eyelids. A ringing sound was coming from somewhere in the distance. No, wait, that was just his head screaming in protest. Dean could feel the major concussion, and he groaned feebly.

            He blinked groggily and lifted a hand to his head automatically. It was sticky and warm. Dean didn’t have to look to know that he was bleeding profusely. True, head wounds often bled more than other places, but it wasn’t comforting.

            “How you feelin’ sweetie pie?” a voice said from above him somewhere, sweet and sticky like molasses.

            Dean forced his eyes to focus on the person currently stopping him from sitting up. The knee on his chest was becoming increasingly painful. Blinked twice more before the picture in front of him cleared up. Dean inhaled sharply.

            “Jenny?”

            Looming above him, the pretty waitress smiled sweetly. “Oh silly, you didn’t think Stella was _actually_ who you were looking for right?”

            Dean groaned. Whether it was due to pain or realization was unclear. “You just opened that diner 5 months ago. The first vic was soon after.”

            Jenny dug her knee into Dean’s chest a little harder, sensing his discomfort. “I swear you hunters are the easiest people to spot. You just roll into town thinkin’ you know everythin’ there is to know.”

            Shit. If Dean could just manage to reach the silver knife snuggled against his belt, he might be able to stop her.

            He moved his left hand slightly and Jenny pinned it down with her arm, leering at him. “You think it’s really gonna be that easy? Vetalas are venomous, you know.”

            She leaned in, almost shyly, like she was going to kiss him. Her face, brushed past his lips though, and made a beeline for his neck. Dean struggled and put his free hand on her shoulder, simultaneously trying to push her away and free himself.

            “Don’t be rude,” she hissed, her face dangerously close to his flesh.

            He pushed back harder, trying to free his knees that were currently trapped underneath her.

            The young vetala growled in frustration, and used her other hand to grab Dean’s face. Anger etched into her young face, any trace of a sweet young girl, gone. The middle Winchester seized his chance.

            “Now you listen to me, you little insect—“

            Jenny stopped speaking, her eyes wide, mouth making an ‘O’ shape. She looked down slowly, to see Dean’s silver knife plunged into her chest, blood dripping from where the hilt stuck out.

            Dean pushed her off of him with effort, and she crumpled as she hit the ground, her face morphing into something more suited for _Tales From the Crypt_ , rather than roadside diner waitress.

            Dean groaned and rolled over slowly. The effort was becoming too much, white sports dancing in front of his eyes at any attempt at movement. He just had to get to the Impala, that’s all.

            _Suck it up, Winchester._ He forced himself to crawl onto all fours, the cold Texas road biting into his shaking hands. A nap and a warm bath sounded so freaking awesome right about now. Kinda girly, but awesome nonetheless.

            Dean braced himself, inhaled and straightened his torso, so he stood on his knees. The effort alone made him want to hurl. Slowly, he steadied himself again and began to attempt to stand when a sickly _clang_ reverberated in the Texas night and Dean hurtled to the ground face-first.

            His hands didn’t stop him in time, and he was eating a mouthful of concrete. His front teeth pierced his lips like a knife being dipped into butter. With a sound like a gunshot, Dean’s head collided with the ground at full force. An involuntary yelp of pain escaped Dean’s lips as his vision was obscured.

            A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his face up off the ground, a low breathy voice in his ear. “You should know, hunter, vetalas come in pairs.”

* * *

 

_ Stanford University. Late 2004.  _

         It wasn’t that Sam was _different_. Not really. He was just…nervous. He had made it pretty clear that he hadn’t wanted anything to do with camping, no sir. Jess had complained and begged and Sam finally caved, like she knew he would. So they’d driven out for a camping retreat in the pleasantly cool California winter, one last hurrah before everybody had to lock themselves indoors and cram for final exams and write needlessly long papers.

            Strange Sam didn’t like camping because he was athletic, knew how to use all the outdoor gear, and actually liked being outside a lot of the time. Jess wondered if he had some weird bug phobia.

            The tent had been pitched in ten minutes, Jess reading from instructions while Sam lumbered around connecting poles like it was second nature. After inspecting the tent and giving Sam a hard time, Jess had decided that the tent was pitched ‘okay’ and had dragged Sam on a hike.

            He’d been talkative all throughout the hike, yakking away about the types of plants and deforestation, the usual. Jess had listened and actually contributed because Sam wasn’t the only well-read person out of the pair.

            In fact, Jess had only noticed Sam get _nervous_ when the sun began to sink away. Streaks of violet and fuchsia melted into one another creating a picturesque panorama that felt liberating when coupled with the woods and crisp air that was unadulterated by the smog and lights of the city.

            “It’s beautiful,” breathed Jess.

            “We should start a fire,” Sam said gathering up dry pieces of wood. He looked at Jess who hadn’t moved to help. “What?”

            “Don’t you wanna just look at the sky? It’s not like we can’t make a fire afterwards.” Jess crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.

            Sam continued stacking a pile of wood near the tent. “It’s lovely Jess, really, but I want to get a fire started before it gets completely dark.”

            “Scared of the dark?” Jess joked.

            Sam huffed in annoyance. “No, but it’ll get cold and it’ll be more difficult to get started later in the pitch blackness.”

            Jess held up her hand in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Calm down there, grumpy.”

            Sam stopped collecting wood and gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to go all control-freak on you. I just think a fire before dark would be best.”

            “I get it. Here,” she handed him a log. “Do you even know how to start a fire?”

            Sam raised an eyebrow in a ‘ _are you kidding me’_ fashion. “Really? I could start one with my eyes closed. You start with the tinder and—“

            Jess rummaged through her bag until she found what she was looking for. She marched straight to Sam’s little fire pit and poured a liberal amount of lighter fluid all over the sticks and struck a book of matches in one fluid movement. The flames leapt high and Jess jumped back instinctively as Sam flailed a little.

            “Holy crap, Jess!” Sam yelped. “What the hell?”

            “This is a much faster way of starting a fire,” Jess shrugged.

            Sam looked at her incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

            “Human beings are creatures of biology. In biology there’s a principle of energy conservation. I’m just following what I’m hardwired to do.” Jess smirked. “Oops.”

            Sam wrinkled an eyebrow and continued to stare at her with an open mouth. “Ever the pragmatist. You’re the greatest, you know that?”

            “Of course,” Jess rolled her eyes. “And I brought marshmallows.”

            Jess soon learned that Sam was a meticulous marshmallow roaster. He turned them a quarter of the way every five seconds to achieve a crisp golden brown coating and the optimal gooey white filling.

            Her strategy was a lot simpler. Just stick it in the flames until it catches fire. Blow out. Ta-da!

            She was on her third marshmallow while Sam hadn’t finished roasting his first.

            “You enjoying your marshmallow there, Sam?”

            Sam was undeterred and continued to stare at his masterpiece. “I’m making art.”

            “Perfect art’s overrated,” Jess told him, lighting her fourth marshmallow on fire.

            Sam looked at her marshmallow in disgust. “How do you eat it like that? It’s all burned and tastes like wood. It used to drive me crazy when my brother did that.”

            Jess straightened a little. Sam was willingly volunteering personal information about his family? First time for everything. “Did he also understand the proper roasting technique?”

            “Ugh, no.” Sam laughed. “He was impatient and burned them to a crisp. You’re headed down that dangerous culinary road, too.”

            “Maybe we just understand it’s a marshmallow on a stick and not the crème de la crème of desserts,” Jess suggested. “Or maybe we have refined palates.”

            Sam snorted. “Unless you count burgers and ramen refined, then sorry, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

            “You guys eat that a lot?” Jess asked with a grin.

            “Sometimes. What about you? Did you have a sophisticated palate when you were a kid?”  
            And there it was, Sam walling himself up really tight to avoid anything slipping between the cracks. Turning the question back on her. Sam was going to be an excellent attorney someday. He’d told Jess he didn’t get along well with them all the time. Told her that he’d moved a lot for his dad’s work. Told her that he hadn’t seen them in a while because they were all busy. Right. He either thought she was an idiot, or knew she was too smart for that and prayed that she left it alone. Jess knew the latter was a far more viable option.

            She didn’t know how to continue her exploration into Sam’s life without him shutting down. She was a scuba diver, swimming in dark uncharted waters, hoping that something didn’t pull on her foot and drag her down. “Uh, yeah. I was a personal fan of pizza and smarties.”

            Sam laughed and left it at that. Turned the conversation away from smarties and childhood sweets to school and terrible movies.

            Later that night, Jess awoke to a soft rustling motion. She rolled over to find Sam wasn’t in the tent. She popped her head out, frightened.

            “Sam?” she whispered.

            No answer. It wasn’t like Sam to wander off, so he was probably using nature’s bathroom. Jess stepped out of the cabin shivering in her cotton t-shirt and pants. A white glimmer caught her eye in the moonlight.

            “What the hell?” she murmured stepping closer to it. She leaned down and touched it, tentatively. It felt grainy and course, and the light made it look dazzlingly bright.

            “Salt?” she said out loud just as Sam bounded up to the tent.

            “Jess! Hey, sorry for waking you!”

            “Not a problem,” she said relieved. “Why is there a ton of salt surrounding our tent?”

            “Slugs,” Sam said firmly. Head held high, posture tall and convincing. He would’ve sold Jess on the idea, had it not been for the fact that he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

            “Slugs?” Jess repeated.

            “Yeah there’s a ton of them. They get into the food and they’re gross.” Sam shrugged, staring at a spot above her head.

            “But the food is in the closed tent, genius.”

            “Doesn’t hurt to be precautious.” Sam actually looked at her now. “Please let’s just go back to sleep.”

            “Sure,” Jess smiled.

            Jess allowed herself to be led into the small tent and was pleased when Sam put his long arm around her.

            Sam wasn’t _weird_ or _strange_ or _different._ Not really. He was just Sam. And that was perfectly okay with her.

* * *

 

_ Fredericksburg Texas. Late 2004. _

            Dean thought his nose was broken. Was it broken? Who knew? The pounding in his skull was too much to deal with, and someone was making it worse by pulling his hair.

            Fucking vetala. _Vetalas._ Apparently they weren’t as lonesome as dad thought. _Thanks, I appreciate it, dad. I love getting my fucking skull bashed in._

            “Two of you?” Dean rasped, spitting out a thick mouthful of blood.

            “We always stick together. We’re family,” the monster hissed into his ear.

            It sure would be convenient if Dean had some of that, but lately he was coming up short. Maybe he should invest in some. “Of course.”

            The vetala slammed his face back into the ground and kicked him hard in the ribs. Well if there was any doubt as to the state of his nose, it was now very clear.

            “That was my daughter you murdered!” The vetala screamed. Another well-aimed kick to ribs forced Dean to roll to his side, wheezing. “I’m going to drain the life out of you. You’ll be begging for mercy when I’m done!”

            Dean looked up out of the corner of his eye. The silver knife was still twisted in the young Vetala’s corpse. The mother was getting ready to pounce, he knew.

            A set of fangs descended from the mother’s gums and she kicked Dean hard and fast in the stomach, knocking him flat on his back.

             Dean wheezed and coughed, phlegm and blood falling all over his face. He felt his trusty gun in the small of his back. It was loaded with silver bullets, but Dean had no idea how effective they would be against vetalas.

            He wasn’t given a choice. The mother vetala swooped down just as he pulled the gun out and fired three consecutive rounds straight into her chest. Blood pooled around her, and Dean didn’t know if it had killed her or not. His vision began to blur, shapes morphed into one. He absently felt his neck; he had a shallow bite mark in the back.

            Vetala venom coursing through his veins, Dean dragged himself inch by inch to the silver knife. He wasn’t sure if silver bullets would stop her forever, but for the time being they seemed to slow her down. He whimpered to himself. Not hiding it. Nobody around to care anyway. Blood spilling out of every orifice on his face, he yanked the knife out of the vetala corpse ungracefully.

            It was like being drunk only a thousand times harder to move your hands. Having autonomy of your own limbs was essential to the Winchester way. Dean pulled himself over to the mother and plunged the knife into her heart, only satisfied when her face shriveled up like a prune.

            Dean crawled to his car leaving a trail of blood behind him, his own version of macabre footprints. Dean let himself sink into the Impala, blood spilling all over the leather interior. He should care about that, right?

            There was no instruction manual on what to do when a Vetala bit your friggin’ neck or how long it was supposed to last. So Dean just sat there, lightheaded and tired beyond all hell. After maybe ten minutes or maybe three hours, he couldn’t tell, Dean trusted himself to drive out of town. His ribs, kidneys, stomach, and face would just have to wait.

* * *

 

_ Massachusetts. 4 days later. Late 2004. _

            “Are you sure you don’t want more pain meds?”

            “I said I’m fine. Sir.” Dean hated being coddled, but after watching his son walk through the motel door half-dead it was the least he could offer.

            “How are the ribs?” John tried again.

            “Still cracked,” Dean snapped.

            John narrowed his eyes and Dean looked away. Stupid idiot wouldn’t take any pain meds. There was _tough,_ and then there was _martyr._

            John tossed the bottle of Vicodin at Dean. “Take two.” It was an order, and Dean never disobeyed. John wasn’t sure if he should feel pleased or revolted at the thought.

            It hadn’t been hard to coax the story out of Dean. Two vetalas. Not one. Things went south fast. Stabbed one with the silver knife and shot the other with silver bullets. Interesting twist on the mythology. He had needed backup. _He had needed me._ John poured Dean a glass of water. “You’re gonna rest or so help me, Dean.”

            “What? You’ll beat me up?” Dean smirked. “Kinda redundant dontcha think?”

            John huffed. “You’re not funny.”

            “C’mon, I’m fucking hilarious.” Dean cocked his head to the side, leaning against the headboard of the bed. “Seriously, dad. When am I done being on house arrest?”

            “You’re not on house arrest. You’re getting over cracked ribs, a terrible concussion, and a broken nose.” John glared at Dean. “You’re resting, not being punished.”

            “Doesn’t feel like it,” Dean grumbled to himself.

            “How about I go get us some burgers?” It was partially a peace offering, partially a way to get Dean to stop whining. He was the worst patient. Ever.

            “Bacon with fried egg,” Dean agreed.

            “I’ll be back shortly.” John tossed him the TV remote. “If I see you’ve left the bed I will handcuff you to it.”

            John closed the door on Dean shouting, “I can pick a lock you know!”

            It was so easy to pretend things were just fine because Dean had an unbreakable energy to him. Even being beaten to a bloody pulp hadn’t stopped him from trying to go to a bar the very next day, although John suspected it was for show. The kid was swollen and black and blue for crying out loud. This was supposed to be a simple hunt. Straight and to the point. When was anything simple?

            If this was how Dean fared with a couple of monsters, John didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if he came across the thing John so desperately hunted. Not because Dean was weak, anyone could see it _wasn’t_ that. Because John could barely see his son is _this_ condition and accept the fact that it was entirely his fault. If something worse were to happen to Dean, John figured the guilt would eat him alive. He needed to keep Dean safe.

            He needed to keep Dean _away._

            It was starting all over again. The need to protect that eventually pushed people away. Pushed Sam away. But Dean wasn’t Sam. Never had been, never would be. Nine times out of ten Dean would find his way back to his father in the pitch black, no matter the warning. It just wouldn’t be enough to tell him to go on a hunt here and there. He couldn’t be around Dean for much longer if he continued his pursuit of whatever killed his wife.

            Dean would hate him for it. He would hate himself for it.

            In the long run, though, Dean would be okay. And that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a weird chapter to write because I couldn't figure out what to do. I rewrote it twice and hated it. I finally couldn't take it anymore and I settled on this version because if I didn't do it now, I never would. And that would suck. It's a little different from the other chapter because it isn't the typical Dean/Sam perspectives. I chose to have the portions of Sam written in Jess' POV. I know we don't know all that much about her from the show, but I thought it would actually be more interesting to have somebody other than Sam discuss why he isn't solely the golden boy everybody loves. And Sam obviously knows why, so it didn't make sense to me. Sam's portion also isn't a fluid story like in previous chapters, it's more like little snippets in time where nothing intense really happens other than his life developing. Hopefully it doesn't put you all to sleep. Dean's chapter was a fairly normal structure, so there wasn't a change in that. Anyway, I only have one chapter to go!


	23. New Beginnings

**Chapter 23: New Beginnings**

 

_ September 8th 2005\. Idaho. _

            Dean kept his eyes closed despite the shuffling around the room. _Would it kill the old man to just let me sleep four hours here and there?_ Dean could tell it was still dark out, no sign of sunrise yet, so he estimated it to be between 3-4 in the morning. His dad probably stumbling in after a night out at the local bars. _A bar in nowhere Idaho. You could probably find good potatoes. Idaho Potatoes. Heh._

            “Dad?” Dean whispered, voice thick with sleep. “You okay?”

            “Mhm,” John grumbled. “Just looking for an old shirt. Go back to bed.”

            Dean had yet to open his eyes, and the darkness was all too inviting. “Fine,” he conceded. “But if you need anything just let me know.”

            “Yep.”

            Dean drifted into a casual slumber; slight things would jerk him into almost-consciousness. He would stay in a state of not-quite-sleeping but not-really-awake before he would be pulled under just below the surface. At one point Dean could’ve sworn his dad stood over him and gently touched the top of his head, large fingers carefully running through his tousled hair. Dean had leaned into it slightly, a feeling almost foreign to him with the exception of memories that were faded like sepia photographs. But it couldn’t have been his dad because dad didn’t do touchy-feely shit like standing over your kid’s bed and _stroking their hair. Creepy._

            The bright light not remotely obstructed by the polyester motel curtains cast an unpleasantly bright glow around the room, and Dean had no choice but to wake up. He blinked twice before checking the clock. It was nearly 10 am. That was the longest he’d been asleep in…well a really long time. Dean sat up and arched his back like a cat. Crappy motel beds were not getting more pleasant over the years. He glanced around and didn’t see his dad. _Probably getting food._ Dean’s duffel full of stuff was still in the middle of the room, motley bunch of clothing strewn all over the place.

            Dean stood up, his aching joints popping and cracking fantastically. He rifled through his bag until he found a clean-ish shirt and some jeans that weren’t too soiled. Dean pulled on the T-Shirt and jeans and turned on the TV, until his dad got back.

The problem was, daytime TV sucked. His dad was taking freaking forever to get lunch. Dean turned off the soap opera that had been captivating audiences with the original idea of a love triangle. He walked over to the window of the motel and peered through the curtains. His dad’s truck was gone, but the Impala was still there sitting pretty.

Dean smiled fondly at the car, until a slip of white paper on the windshield made him do a double take. “No, no, no!” He shouted opening the door. Getting a ticket was the last thing Dean needed. The hot asphalt burned his bare feet, as he ran across the parking lot and ripped the white piece of paper off the windshield.

Dean scanned the paper quickly and narrowed his eyes. Not a ticket. A note. From his dad.

_Head down to New Orleans to take care of a voodoo thing. Have a different job I’ve got to take care of. Talk to you later. J._

It was curt and succinct, just like the taciturn John Winchester. So his dad decided to sneak off in the middle of the night for a job without even bothering to tell him? _Would’ve been too much of an inconvenience,_ Dean thought bitterly.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled to himself. “The food in New Orleans better be fucking phenomenal.”

* * *

 

_ September 8th 2005\. Stanford University. _

            The heat was stifling, oppressive. Sam just couldn’t tell quite where it was coming from. He stripped off his jacket, but couldn’t seem to rid himself of the heat. Sweat stuck to his back and dripped down his face, plastering his bangs to his forehead. _It’s Autumn, what the hell?_ Sam sat on his bed and closed his eyes trying to escape the wretched inferno. Sweat tickled his nose as it rolled along the sides of his face. He licked his lips, expecting the salty taste of perspiration. Instead it tasted like…iron. Sam wiped his face carelessly and opened his eyes.

            They widened in horror. His hands were coated in blood. Warm, sticky, wet. It was like a knife was plunged into his stomach. Sam’s eyes followed the blood droplets up to the ceiling where a very pretty girl was pinned to the ceiling. Jess.

            “NO!” Sam roared, trying to simultaneously reach her and stop the steady flow of blood that had progressed from drops into streams from falling into his eyes and mouth.

            A small flame licked the bottom of her feet, and Sam could smell it. That had to be the worst; the smell of burning hair and meat being overcooked, acrid and foul. Sam’s eyes watered and he couldn’t tell if it was from the smell, the flames, or his own muffled sobs.

            “JESS!” Sam screamed. “JESS!”

            Sam awoke with a start, grey T-shirt a shade darker due to the sweat that was clinging to it. He sat up, chest rapidly moving up and down. Too fast. He glanced over at Jess who was fast asleep next to him. _It was a dream. It was just a dream and now I’m hyperventilating. Fuck._ Sam slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, and practically ran down the stairs and poured himself a large glass of water. He chugged the glass in three gulps, his breathing still unnecessarily fast. The nightmare felt too real, too visceral. And Sam had to keep looking around to remind himself that the house had not gone up in flames and that Jess…Jess was still asleep upstairs. Sam gripped his water glass and closed his eyes. Flames from a fire that was too vivid to be a nightmare engulfed his mind. _No!_

Sam gasped as a sharp pain erupted from his hand. He opened his eyes to see the water glass crushed in his hand, a few shards sticking into his palm. “Dammit!” Sam swore angrily.

            “Sam are you okay?” Jess asked sleepily walking into the kitchen.

            “Uh, yeah, all good here,” Sam said trying to conceal his bleeding hand from her. He failed. Miserably.

            “Oh my god, your hand! What the hell did you do?” Jess rushed forward to take Sam’s hand in hers. “You need to go to the ER and get stitches!”

            Sam opened his mouth to refuse or maybe even say that he could do them himself but changed his mind. “Broke a glass. Yeah, you’re right. Do you mind driving me? My hand’s kinda screwed up.”

            Jess gave him a _duh_ look. “Of course _I’m_ driving. Get in the car!” She ran to the coat closet and pulled on a sweater jangling her keys impatiently.

            Sam smiled and followed her out, casting one last glance around the house. It was just a dream. Residual from childhood traumas or something, right? It _was_ just a dream…but Sam still didn’t want to let Jess out of his sight, so he stepped into the early morning light and slid into the passenger seat.

“I’m ready to go, when you are,” he smiled at her.

“You are unbelievable. Smiling when your hand’s freaking bleeding. Only you, Sam, I swear,” Jess admonished.

Sam didn’t say anything. He was content to listen to her yell at him forever.

* * *

 

_ September 27th 2005\. Nebraska. _

            Dean didn’t dislike being alone, not really. He liked the quiet and enjoyed being able to play what he wanted to watch on TV. He liked silence when he read a good book or listened to music with headphones. This wasn’t silence though. This was emptiness. It was quiet, sure, but it wasn’t the calm silence of the family being out for a few hours leaving him to a blissful relaxation hour. It was suffocating and harsh. Every little whir of the air conditioner and hum of the electricity could be heard. It was unbearable.

            Dean opened his phone and called the number 1 on speed dial.

            Predictably, “ _This is John Winchester. Leave a message.”_

            “Dammit!” Dean barked in frustration, aggressively ending the call. Dean stood up with a hand placed over his mouth, cupping his clenched jaw. Other hand on his hip as he began to pace back and forth from one end of the room to the other. It’d only been two weeks since he’d heard from his dad. He was probably busy. Or something.

            Dean flipped open his phone again and waited for the familiar voicemail. Surprisingly, an angry voice yelled, “ _What?_ ”

            “Dad?” Dean stopped pacing. “I, uh, finished the voodoo thing in New Orleans.”

            _“And?”_

His dad sounded short-tempered, irritated. More than usual. “And it went well. Cleared it all up.”

            “ _Good.”_

            There was nothing more to be said so Dean flopped onto the bed still clutching his cell phone to his ear. “Do you need me to help you with anything?”

            “ _No.”_ John no longer sounded annoyed, more weathered and tired. Dean hadn’t realized how old his dad was until he heard him speak in that moment. “ _I think I’ve got a case in Jericho, California. I should be heading up there in a few days. There’s a folder in the back of your car that had all the info. Should be easy enough. I’ll meet up with you in a week or so.”_

            “Alright,” Dean agreed, albeit more than a little uncomfortable with the idea. “I’ll see if I can find something small.”

            “OK. Talk to you later.”

            The long beep signaled the end of the call, but Dean kept the phone against his ear.

            “Yeah. Sure. Talk to you later, dad.”

* * *

 

_ October 7th 2005\. Stanford University. _

            At first Sam thought it was his mom. But it was Jess. It was always Jess. It was an innocent mistake though; they were both beautiful and had soft blonde curls framing their faces. And they both died pinned to the ceiling with blood washing down upon him, like some sacrificial lambs. They both burned and Sam could do nothing but lie there in fear and panic and revulsion.

            And then he’d wake up and realize Jess was very much alive and he was having some weird sort of recurring nightmare. Maybe he was projecting his childhood fears into the present. He _had_ heard the story of how mom had died plenty of times. Or maybe he was scared of commitment. He’d been shopping for rings the past few weeks, right around the time the stupid fire dream had started. Whatever the problem was, it was getting to be a pain in the ass because every night he’d wake up in a cold sweat, flailing and freaking out. And every night, Jess would stroke his hair and ask her to tell him what was wrong. But he couldn’t. Tonight was no exception.

            Sam jerked himself upright, eyes wide and blinking rapidly, chest rising and falling. Heavy panting came from his mouth, and he could feel his tongue had gone dry. Blinked again, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, playing a game of sorts with himself. _Where am I? Stanford Apartment. Who’s with me? Jess, you dumbass. Why am I panicking? I had a nightmare. Is it real? No. Then do you have any reason to freak out? No. Then stop being a baby, Winchester. Suck it up._

            “Sam are you okay?” Jess asked concerned.

            Sam rolled over to look at her once he was sure his breathing was under control. “Yeah. Just had a bad dream.”

            Jess propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him with eyes that could probably read minds. “You’ve been having nightmares a lot.”

            “I know.” It was admittance, but not an invitation to further prying.

            Jess sighed. “If you wanna talk, I’m always around to listen, Sam.”

            “I know, Jess.” Sam leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “But it’s no big deal, it’ll go away on it’s own. I’m probably just stressed about getting my LSAT scores back.”

            “You never get stressed about school,” Jess leaned into his arm.

            “This is a bigger playing field,” Sam murmured into her hair.

            “Fine. But if you don’t get a decent amount of sleep I’m going to make you swallow a bottle of melatonin.”

            “Deal,” Sam whispered.

* * *

 

_ October 9th 2005\. Nevada. _

            There were perks to travelling solo, Dean decided. Like sleeping in. Which he took advantage of to an unholy degree. Dad hadn’t called yet and it had been a little more than a week. Dean was concerned, but there was nothing he could do about it. So he let it slide.

            It wasn’t like Dean to miss a phone call, but he’d had a late night of drinking and debauchery. He didn’t even register the vibrations of his cellphone next to his head.

            It was 2 pm by the time Dean lazily rolled out of bed. His head was pounding. Apparently there was a such thing as too much fun. Yeah, right.

            He groaned as he stretched his arms. Ugh, he needed a greasy breakfast. Dean made a mental note to grab some bacon and eggs as soon as he showered. He glanced absently at his cell phone, the display showing a “ _One Missed Call”_ announcement.

            He pressed the voicemail button wondering if it was instructions from his dad on where to head to next.

            The voicemail began and Dean could barely hear it due to all the static in the background. “ _Dean…something big is starting to happen…I need to try and figure out what’s going on…It may…Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”_

“What the fuck,” Dean breathed. He replayed the message again, not getting any more out of it than he had the first time he heard it. Dad was hunting something big that put them all in danger. Why the hell hadn’t he brought him along?

“Dammit!” Dean kicked the bed that was raised on cinderblocks. Poor life choice since his foot was now throbbing, but it didn’t matter. Dean was pissed. He was angry that his father’s need-to-know lifestyle had left him behind eating dust. More than that though, he was worried. Shit your pants terrified. He had no _idea_ what his dad was hunting other than whatever what was in Jericho. Could that be what he was looking for?

Dean aimed another well-placed kick to the abused bed and furiously fell into it.

A week. He’d give dad a week to call and come up with some sort of explanation or location. If he didn’t hear from him in more than a week…he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’d…he’d do something drastic like…well he didn’t know. A week.

* * *

 

_ October 30th 2005\. Stanford University. _

            “C’mon Jess, really? I can’t stand Halloween,” Sam whined while scooping a forkful of salad into his mouth. The crowded dining hall was loud and busy, but comforting all the same.

            “You’re like the Grinch only for Halloween,” Jess wrinkled her nose. “Besides, you’ve got to celebrate! 174! Law schools will be lining up to let you in.”

            Sam didn’t know how to tell her that celebrating his LSAT on Halloween was the last thing to do. After being raised in total awareness of what goes bump in the night, putting on masks and parading around in them almost seemed like tempting fate.

            “It’s just not my cup of tea. First you have to wear a costume and spend a bunch of money on that. Then you have to buy candy to hand out, which is not only creepy, but also really bad for you. Then people run around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off trying to collect the most of their mystery candy and it’s just terrible,” Sam concluded raising his eyebrows.

            “Ugh, you’re like a black hole sucking the fun everywhere you step,” Jess said disgusted. “It’s fun. You can pretend to be something you’re not and get free candy. What could be better?”

            “Sleeping, watching TV, reading, watching grass grow…”

            Jess rolled her eyes. “I don’t get you sometimes. It’s not like we’re going Trick or Treating, anyway. We’re 22 years old. You know what we do on Halloween? Go to parties and drink and dance and eat themed food.”

            Sam shoveled another fork of salad into his mouth. “Okay, but why do I have to go with you?”

            “Because you love me,” Jess said sweetly.

            “Debatable,” Sam muttered.

            “Hey!” Jess smacked his arm. “I heard that! You are going to accompany me and celebrate whether you like it or not because I am taking away all your books so you won’t have anything else to do. Laptop comes too.”

            Sam looked at her in disbelief. “Are you grounding me from studying and forcing me to have a social life?”

            “Yes!” Jess said exasperated. “Consider yourself grounded.”

            “Okay, mom. I’ll go to the stupid Halloween party.”

            “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jess batted her eyelashes jokingly.

            “You are unbearable,” Sam rolled his eyes.

            “I gladly accept that title.”

* * *

 

_ October 31st 2005\. Stanford University. _

            Dean couldn’t believe it had come to this. Shrouded in the darkness sitting outside of an apartment building at freaking Stanford. _Just march in there and talk to him, what are you scared? Scared of talking to your own brother. Suck it up, Winchester._

            Dean stayed still, though. Dad had been missing for weeks now. No phone calls, no coordinates, nothing. He might already be… No, he was alive. Dean just had to find him. And he’d need help. Or maybe he didn’t. Who cared? All he knew was that he was sick of being left behind. _Dad is freaking missing and I don’t want to be the only one on the goddam job. Not anymore._

Going out and looking for dad solo meant one of three things. He’d either find dad and they’d be on their merry way, he wouldn’t find dad and be back to square one, or he’d find a body, and Dean didn’t think he could face either option alone.

            Sam didn’t need this. He didn’t want to be a part of it, that’s why he left in the first place. And here Dean was, ready to rip the rug right out from under his feet. _You’re going to come in and demolish his life here._ Dean grimaced. _No, Sam will want to help make sure dad’s still freaking alive._

            Dean glanced at his watch. Quarter past two. If he was going to make his move it had to be soon. Every minute he stalled was a minute dad could be getting hurt.

            Dean opened the door to the Impala and climbed out easily. He made his way quietly to the back of the house and pried open a window with too much ease. _Jesus, Sammy. Any number of things could crawl right through this freaking window and gut you like a fish._

            He climbed through it, not as noiselessly as he’d hoped. A curtain of beads obstructed the living room from the upstairs bedroom. _Going bohemian now, Sammy?_

He turned the corner looking for the kitchen when he felt somebody pull his shoulder back. Dean instinctively knocked the arm away and aimed a well placed blow at the shoulder-grabber. Shoulder-grabber ducked, so Dean grabbed his arm, swung it around and pushed him back with full force. The man tried to kick Dean in the stomach and he easily blocked it and shoved him once more into another room.

            A glimmer of light caught on the shoulder-grabber’s face. A mop of brown hair covering frantic hazel eyes and a pointed nose desperately trying to push Dean back. Dean smiled. _Oh Sammy. You suck._

            Dean elbowed Sam in the face. Hard. _This is like taking candy from a baby. It’s almost embarrassing to be your brother right now._ Sam aimed another hard kick at his head, to no avail. Dean almost lazily blocked it. _Enough, play time’s over._

Dean landed a clean hit in the center of Sam’s chest and Dean easily knocked him to the ground, pinning him down with one hand at his neck, the other holding down his wrist.

            “Whoa, easy tiger.” Dean smirked.

            Sam looked at him in confusion for a moment. Dean could practically see realization dawning on Sam’s gawky face. “Dean?”

            Dean laughed, Sammy was completely baffled and it wasn’t something he saw very often.

            “You scared the crap out of me!”

            Dean cockily tilted his head. “That’s cause you’re out of practice.”

            Dean was taken by surprise as Sam yanked his hand forward and slammed him into the ground. _Okay, I probably deserved that._ “Or not. Get offa me.”

            Sam rolled to his feet and pulled him up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            Dean resisted the urge to wince or smack him. “Well, I _was_ looking for a beer.”

            He can’t help it though. He places a hand on his giant little brother’s shoulder and shakes it. He hasn’t talked to him in four years. So much to say, so much that would be unsaid. So he let’s go of Sam’s shoulder.

            “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam repeats

            _Ouch. Okay. So it’s not a big happy family reunion. What did you expect?_

“Okay,” Dean said skipping the nonexistent warm and fuzzy greeting. “All right. We’ve gotta talk.”

            Sam threw him a disdainful look. “Uh, the phone?”

            Dean returned it with a sardonic smile. “If I’da called would you have picked up?”

            Sam was about to open his mouth to argue, but the lights flipped on and he was cut short. A very pretty blonde girl in her pajamas was standing at the doorway looking confused. _Oh Sammy, you sly dog._

            “Sam?” the blonde asked. She looked like she was debating calling the police.

            “Jess. Hey.” Sam sounded nervous. “Dean, this is my girlfriend Jessica.”

            _Holy crap, Sammy. You have scored. Big time._

            Jess took a small step forward, smiling. “Wait, your brother Dean?”

            Sam nodded, and Dean stepped closer, an impish grin making its way onto his face. “Oh, I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother’s league.”         

            Jess looked at Sam briefly, simultaneously embarrassed and intrigued. “Let me just go put something on.”

            Dean looked at her with mock sincerity. “No, no, no. I wouldn’t dream of it. Seriously.” It was borderline flirting with his brother’s girlfriend and he knew it. But screw it, he hadn’t seen Sam in _years,_ he had to make up for lost time in embarrassing Sam.

            Dean walked back over to Sam. “Anyway, gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meeting you.”

            “No.” Sam walked over to Jess and put his arm around her. “No. Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her.”

            Dean was slightly taken aback. _Are you fucking kidding me, Sammy? Anything I want to say? Really? Dipshit._

“Um. Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.” It came out a lot stupider than he meant it to sound.

            Sam threw him a disgusted smile. “So he’s working on a Miller Time Shift. He’ll stumble back in sooner or later.”

            Dean looked down, unsure of what to do, how to make Sam understand. _Really, Sam? I should kick your little ass into next week. Dad could be dead or dying and you…_ _You have to believe me. You have to come with me. We need to find him. Together._

            Dean looked up slowly, a slight grin playing on his lips. He had no idea why he was trying to smile. Because he was scared his dad was dead? Because he was scared his brother would flat out reject him? Because deep down he had some small stupid spark of _hope_ that maybe, just maybe he and Sam could be a family again? This was his last shot. It was all or nothing, now. Dean took a slight breath.

            “Dad’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH! I can't believe I finally finished this massive fic. I hope the final chapter isn't too repetitive, but I've known from the very beginning that this story would end with Dean saying his iconic "Dad's on a hunting trip" line allowing it to play into the beginning of the canon. It's been a year in the making and it's finally completed and I kinda can't believe it. This story was meant to be a series of small blurbs, not actual massive chapters, so it took a lot longer than I thought it would! Hopefully it wasn't all terrible. I want to thank all of you who have read. That's super sweet of you and makes my day. Those of you that have stuck with me through this journey are awesome and I can't thank you enough. I don't know if I have anything planned after this, but we'll see. All grammar errors/typos are my fault (I'm sure there are several throughout the course of this monster fic, but I am only one person and once I reach that stage where it all looks the same to me, I'm lost). I don't own any of the characters (if I did I wouldn't be worrying about student loans!) so don't sue me. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again everybody. I've FINISHED!


End file.
